by Tovli Simiryan
Alfred’s sadness emptied into my fists. “She won’t wake up; your mother needs you.” I opened my hands as though a child’s fingers could be wings, suggesting, “Open a window. She’ll fly away like a song.” Alfred faded against the wall while Father hid prescription bottles and blamed us both. At her funeral, no one cried, but I imagined Mother praying for feathers, a clear day; she had probably studied piano as a little girl.
Tovli Simiryan is the author of "The Breaking of the Glass" and "Fixing the Broken Glass." This piece is dedicated to Al Rosso.