By Claire Lawrence
Allen lobbed a Russian vine into the garden. He said the voracious plant with delicate, lacy flowers would cover the run-down shed. I tried to stop him.
He stood wiping the dirt onto his dress pants, both him and the pants fresh off the plane from Moscow.
It will smother everything in its path, I said.
That’s the point.
But, the shed, I protested. It’s where we first made love. It will vanish.
Allen glanced at my grey hair, sagging breasts, and apron belly.
You’re right. I imagine it will.
What are you saying?
I’ve met someone. Her name is Oksana.
Nice read… great choice of words which sadly reflected how someone can be replaced in the blink of an eye… kudos …
How so many relationships end. The other just never knew and is just left to wonder. Lovely use of the Russian Vine as metaphor
Lovely, timely, insightful story.
Nice cadence and twist
Sad story.
How people live on by hurting others
Effective symbolism.