SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Friday, Dec. 12, 2014 @ 1:12 pm
Eva



I sat down beside Eva, her mouth gaping, breath raspy and laboured. Eyes closed. Skin paper thin. Chest convex and corduroy with ribs. This is ninety two years old.

I hold her hand and gently rub her fingers and palm. I tell her that tomorrow is a new day, and that I hope to see her again soon. I tell her goodnight.

A muscle twitches around her mouth and something in her hand flutters. It might just be my cold hands stimulating her muscles, but I hope that she hears me.

In the hallway, I bounce my nephew on my knee. He's sturdy and frowny, three months of rosy baby goodness. He cries for everyone else, so they hand him back to me and he calms. I walk around with him, soothing his frustrations, showing him the decorations in the nursing home.

The old and the young. Endings and beginnings.

Eventually, the baby tires of me and howls for his mothers breast.

We drive off into the stormy night, lightning flashing on the horizon.


Roots | Shoots