Feeding Her Soul Before It Was Stolen Away

By | May 2nd, 2015 | Prose & Cons, web-featured

By Samantha Brodsky

I’ve been told I resemble my Grandma Norma,
her dark, fierce eyes the shape of fat almonds,
her oval face thin and fragile like rice paper.
I’ve been told she was ferocious, a lioness,
festering bitterness packaged by her petite
frame, masked by jarring, lustrous beauty
like the breathtaking blue of an electric
lightning bolt. Time eroded away all
traces of enchantment from her skin
and so I don’t recall this beauty.
I only remember the tingling
in my feet arched on tip-toe
as my tiny fingers pinched
the coldness of the metal
silver spoon raising the
offering of yogurt and
blueberries toward her
faded lips, dry and
cracked like a pink
river scorched of all
its wetness or the sun-
soaked sands of a desert.
I fed her spoon after spoon
steadily slow because she could
not feed herself and I didn’t know
about the tumor growing behind her
dim eyes, like the rotting bitterness that
lurked in the shadows of her brain deep in
the thick, tangled roots of her skull. The only
thing I knew as a mere child was the darkness
of the tangy berries against the cream of the plain,
sweet yogurt against the cold of the heavy bowl against
my young palms so naïve and pure. So maybe that’s why I
must always dot my sea of white yogurt with blueberry buoys.

    Buzzsaw Also Recommends:
  • Suture by Samantha Brodsky (May 1, 2014)
  • It Was Always Water (It Was Never Wine) by Erika Walsh (May 5, 2016)
  • Poor Thing by Samantha Brodsky (December 18, 2014)
  • Spoon – They Want My Soul by Jon Roberts (October 12, 2014)
  • Headland by Robert S. Hummel (December 5, 2012)
  • Leave a Reply