Two boys stand at a fresh gravestone. Hands in pockets and no coats on a chilly morning.
Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, looking to each other, oblivious to my presence and the passing cars.
Their shirts are loose around their boyish shoulders, their wavy brown hair is the same shade as each other’s, same shade as their father’s.
I want to take them home and feed them. Give them clean sheets around a warm bed and tell them they’re not alone. I can only hope they have a mother who will.
And what is this, where does it go, how does it fit? Should have a home somewhere!
ReplyDeleteI agree, it probably should have a home. It doesn't yet... but I guess that's why I put it here. To have a place, to revisit it when I need it.
ReplyDeleteImagine the broken woman in the previous entry coming on these boys and having these thoughts, despite her conviction that she no longer is central in her own life. Her thoughts and eventual actions might lead to a way back for her.
ReplyDelete