photo by Sandis Helvigs via Unsplash
Mother paced the room, heel snagging the rug at every turn, every time she clicked from fabric to floorboards. ‘Just help me understand.’ Her tone had switched from bullying to pleading, a desperate act for her.
How do I explain the feeling as I sank into the damp leaves, as they parted beneath me, as sweet earth wrapped about my body, as he whispered without words, whispered the bulge of sap through the trees, the soft, velvet stretch of leaves unfurling, of roots spreading through the soil – of how the rain tastes when you have no tongue?
‘I loved him and never saw his face.’ How can I explain that he doesn’t have one?