Gyroscope Review 16-4 - Page 42

MIDDLE EAST VETERAN’S WIFE BY KARI GUNTER-SEYMOUR Sunshine finds you on the sofa, heat inching forehead to chest, stillness with a tremble of movement. Sacred in that landscape, where sleep knits real and unreal. They say your mama was a whisperer, reaching out to stray or wounded. Not just dogs and cats, but crows, mice, once a raccoon. Her eyes, that touch, silent words from a language she somehow knew she had— for wellness or the good death. Soon he will wake, stumble from the bedroom. You will love him even as he screams, a rapid fire of bitter words, despair like fever dampening his upper lip, eyes feral, memories in flashes and arcs, chaotic, like mongrels spilling through a torn fence. He imagines himself as being held in some kind of pen, waiting to be released back into his life. Edging up, you’ll breathe his name like a secret, reach out, give off a glimmer of something like light, or hope.
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