~
It Begins
The door slammed open. Overcoat pulsed by dark wind, he shouted—to be heard over the gale—that war had broken out. Mother ushered him over to the fire. I shut the door, annoyed he hadn’t done it himself. Light flickered over his chiseled features and he stared into the flames as if he’d forgotten immediately that we were there. I began to speak, to urge him to elaborate—which I considered entirely fair and not very much to ask—but Mother signaled impatiently for me to hush, to let him recover. So I sulked in the corner shadows, kicking at dust.
A couple days later I was out in the snow on a bright cold afternoon cutting wood for the fire, the fire he was still staring into motionlessly, when I started to doubt he was ever going to talk at all. I looked back toward the house. Mother was watching me out of the kitchen window, though it didn’t look like she was seeing me or thinking about anything, just letting the water run and staring out over the sink with a faraway look. I waved. Slowly she shook her head.
~
Mike Samra
Mike Samra is a poet, writer, and painter. Author of the forthcoming book Among the Enemies, his work has appeared in a number of publications and received such awards as the Hillary Gravendyk Prize, the Bermuda Triangle Prize, and the Himan Brown Award. He lives at present in New Orleans.