Susan Denning

Took the first fruit I could find and hid it in my backpack. I was a member of an absent army, outmanuevring the enemy. Flowers in my pockets, I kept my profile low. In winter we baked bread. In spring the animals arrived. There’s a quiet room in back where we would talk. I drew maps and color coded the rivers. There were countries without citizens.

I was worried about the Japanese, their fishing villages. Their nowhere
left to return to. Their families pulled apart and reassembled somewhere
they couldn’t get to.

A conversation my daughter has on the phone. All I hear is the rising and falling of her voice, the quiet when she’s listening to what the other person says.

Posted 05/06/11

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