I have this image I can't get out of my head. She's dressed in white, the cloth falling around her feet, which are unswollen and whole. Her eyes are closed, but you know she's alive even though her chest is still. He sits at her bedside, looking into a face he knows so well, and takes her hand. He takes her hand, and her fingers instinctively close around his, as he gently shakes her awake. She smells sweet rice cakes and steamed egg, and knows that they are for her, so she opens her eyes and smiles at what she sees. His face is hidden but the air around him glows a hazy yellow, like the slant of the yellow sun in the late autumn afternoons. "Talitha koum," he says. "My precious daughter wake up. You're home at last."
No comments:
New comments are not allowed.