“Stop that,” she said, in a way a child confronts a stranger. She pulled
the blanket up to her chin and glared at him with that look, don’t come
any closer, do you hear me? He didn’t move— stood by the chair full
of sour-smelling clothes—a shadow of himself, listing in moonlight
slipping through venetian blinds. He was nearly blue, holding his breath.
A rosary wound tightly around his clenched fist. He didn’t know any
prayers by heart. But she did. She knew them all. She felt the weight of
the world, and she couldn’t shake him off.
the blanket up to her chin and glared at him with that look, don’t come
any closer, do you hear me? He didn’t move— stood by the chair full
of sour-smelling clothes—a shadow of himself, listing in moonlight
slipping through venetian blinds. He was nearly blue, holding his breath.
A rosary wound tightly around his clenched fist. He didn’t know any
prayers by heart. But she did. She knew them all. She felt the weight of
the world, and she couldn’t shake him off.
M.J. Iuppa lives on Red Rooster Farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Most recent poems, lyric essays and fictions have appeared in the following journals: Poppy Road Review, Black Poppy Review, Digging to the Roots, 2015 Calendar, Ealain, Poetry Pacific Review, Grey Sparrow Press: Snow Jewel Anthology, 100 Word Story, Avocet, Eunoia Review, Festival Writer, Silver Birch Press: Where I Live Anthology, Turtle Island Quarterly, Wild Quarterly, Boyne Berries Magazine (Ireland), The Lake, (U.K.), Punchnel’s; forthcoming in Camroc Review, Tar River Poetry, Corvus Review, Clementine Poetry, Postcard Poetry & Prose, among others. She is the Writer-in-Residence and Director of the Visual and Performing Arts Minor Program at St. John Fisher College. You can follow her musings on art, writing and sustainability on mjiuppa.blogspot.
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