| Author | Message | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3694 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention The Price of Memory Lisa Janice Cohen They whisper across the small bed, brown leathered hands clasped. A hot wind roils the curtains. Behind the scent of jasmine, the acrid residue of smoke. In her room-- bright with pop-star posters, a daughter strains to hear the cadence of the past, the sing-song rhythms-- a language she only understands in the space between wakefulness and sleep. She clings to her pillow, tries to put a name to what's been lost. But her tongue was never taught to shape the sounds of bitterness. So many conversations broken by the silence of denial. She picks her way carefully; speaks in perfect imitation of her American schoolmates, watches her parent's amber eyes fill with longing and quiet pride. |
