By Devon Balwit
My daughter gone, I sneak into her room and prowl.
Like a skillful paleontologist, I leave each stratum intact. The college course guide sits atop the acceptance letter which covers the high school yearbook which weighs down the dog-eared diaries. Whatever I extract, I place back, identically askew. I press my nose to her bedding, to the workout shirt abandoned in a corner.
She is not there, only her instars.
A shelter for pupating, my house has served its purpose. It vacates to a dry rustle. I lie in its riverbed like the footprints of one extinct. I imagine what was.
Mother or father, no matter, either one needs a hobby, seriously.
Beautifully crafted, well done. Says what a lot of parents are feeling at this time, I’m sure.
Re pupa and papa: Exquisite in texture and tone, Devon
Jerry
Emotionally packed without any sentimentality.
Sad but somehow realistic. Uncovering memories to keep a loved one alive. Perceptive.
So emotional.