Rough day for Susie Psychologist; weaving words like armor to avoid the wounds of words. E-mail confrontations over stuff that’s really only stuff yet sentimental means it means much more. The ring is gone, I tell her, I told you that; she took it long ago. I pray she drops the topic, subtly focusing on other things because if this one blows it can blow her very heart away. Things I cannot tell her, things that hurt me once just knowing how badly it would hurt her if she knew. Finally it’s smoldered down to ashes. I’ve taken a bit of blame but she will never know how close she came to devastation.
And then a man walks in the shop and presents me with a dozen coral roses. Thanks for the framing, he says.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
“coral” great word, great color, also the sliding simile to “choral.”
I know the feeling of those conversations one dare not have. . .
What lovely roses.