I had to let her go on up the
stairs ahead of me because of how she took them. Always, a jaunty dance of
rapidly, three steps up then two back down.
The polished wooden floors
amplified the sunlight, a golden glow of peace that I would always mistrust. I
worried too that the angel was not real as I did not see how the vast expanse
of wings could fit through the little slits in the back of the robe.
Her concern was enough to make the
stairs gently creak. I do not speak. What was the point with only a few minutes
to burn in heaven before falling back through.
Op 9, No 2
The sky is gray but in this
drabness it makes the light from our place shine like a distant star or the
blush of your cheeks during warmer months.
Inside the air is slightly smoky
from wild boar sausage. It is not acrid but a heaviness which is a comfort.
The cool mineral notes of our
drinks. Waiting for our meal, I start to tattoo the back of the card which
announces the house drink specials. My pen bleeds from the neck and my hands
echo in kind.
- Wayne H. W Wolfson 2015
www.waynewolfson.com
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