My hand shakes as I pour tea. Outside the window, youngsters shriek for joy on the strand.
The touch of sea breeze kicks me mule hard. Memory sears bright. Waiting at the door in my one piece. My father taking me swimming after work. Strong hands. Jumping from dangerously high shoulders. Together time, undeniable.
The girl at the market confided her own estrangement, a reconciliation. Life is indeed short.
Dead men don’t tell tales. Crushing chains of regret, of loss, rattle across my heart.
Picture is copyright by Christopher A. Dominic.