Dueling Season

by Christopher Morgan

All the strawberries you grew sparked when we’d bite into them. Must have been the vibes of summer seared inside.

Yesterday you woke me up, put a sword in my hand, and made me fight my brother in a field of sunflowers. I don’t have a brother. But he was furious at me for all the times I’d failed him. He said that I’d forgotten myself. That I no longer thought about my father. That I had traded away my anger to become something new.

Which is true. At least that’s what I kept telling myself as I twisted the blade—we have to be brutal with the ones we love.

Now done, I vowed away the sun and went home. I sat in bed with some of your strawberries, watching the sparks as I chewed.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: