The 2River View | 20.4 (Summer 2016) |
Taylor Bond
Father, you said, I have watched the sun wash the windows while I waited for you. I pried the claws off of lobsters, the crackled red shellac sounded like bullets, and I did not move. There is such a fine line between fear and pride. The light from the kitchen, a caution tape on linoleum tile. I tossed the remains to the trash and treasured the meat, the tender pulp, like cloth between my fingers. How long have I waited? In your absence I have become a predator, Here, a blade. There, a hand. father, I have waited for you. I have pressed my ear, soft and hirsute, to dirt to listen to the thunder of your footsteps from a distance. I have become a carbon creature, a testament to life like all of the others. I have excommunicated the bees because they know nothing of loneliness. My scabs have blossomed into roses on my knees so that I am pretty while I kneel. father, you do not support these illegitimate dreams. Cast off your prosthetic love. Taylor Bond is a 2014-2015 Lannan Fellow, a copywriter at Tokyo Journal, and a freelance photographer. Her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Belle Reve Literary Journal, The Foundling Review, and Underwater New York, among others. contact
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