Muted Potatoes

Even forgotten, she remembers.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

The potatoes on a plate,
Crispy as you like them.
He no longer recalls asking.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

“How was work?” I ask.
He sees them and nods.
We both pretend you answered.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

You used to be a rock,
Solid, grounded, sturdy–
Reliable.

Now, a sharp stone.

Moss-covered.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

Painful.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

I silence the jabbing pain
Of the pricks
As you roll.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

The words that sting.
Your loud rage.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

Instead, I fry
Your potatoes.
Bake your bread.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

So I sit
With you
Waiting for you
To tell me
That you know me.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

You whisper a name–
Not mine.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

But I have
Your eyes.
Your love for the Rolling Stones.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

For these, I fry
Your potatoes,
Brew your coffee

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

And sit,
Waiting

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞With a
Quiet
Whisper
“Dad”–
For you
To hear.

🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞☕🥐🧈🍯🥄🧃🧇🥓🍊🍳🥔🍞

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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.