Astride the swing ride, sky opens, vast, deep, lavender. I should be scared, suspended in the air. But I’m not. There are no demands. No father to dissect, blame me for things the world has taken. No reminder of Mother, run off without a goodbye, a word of tenderness.
I wish I could hang all night. Swing on the moon. Slumber on a blanket of stars, flickering. Tender. Without weeping for the emptiness, hoping Dad’s rages would stop.
But they’d come for me. The world always takes. For now I hold on, as tightly as a child to a mother.
Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State’s MFA program in fiction. His work has been published or is forthcoming in journals such as Write City Magazine, Fleas on the Dog, Cicatrix Publishing, Rue Scribe, sinkhole, and 100 Word Story. He lives in Fort Collins, CO.