100 Words on Love, by Jarad Dewing
The Susquehanna ran murky beneath our feet, the aluminum dinghy bobbed aimlessly south, the taste of steamed clams and buttered corn still new on my small pink tongue. I stuck a fern in the bow and declared myself Captain; you chuckled and pointed out stumps to avoid.
When I visited at Christmas, I asked about the river cabin and your clouded eyes glistened; you begged me to take you. We can’t, I said, it’s flooded and the nurses wouldn’t let me. Oh, you said, and called me by my uncle’s name, I’m sorry, I forgot.
It’s alright, it’s alright.
Photo: Flickr/Bunny Paffenroth