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December 2005, vol 1 no 3

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Allen McGill

 

White Light

Blinding glare—the pain intense through my tears. I don't move—refuse to blink or look away—wallow in self-recrimination. Sorrow, anger, fear, hopelessness—unwilling to cry out my anguish.

The sun descends beyond the mountain at the edge of Lake Chapala, its rays sharp, cutting in the clear Mexican air—shards of agony reflect off the surface.

I hold my breath, willing the descent to halt—to reverse itself—to undo . . .

day's end
the overturned rowboat
fades away

 

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