In the Airport
A man called Dad walks by then another one does. Dad, you say and he turns, forever turning, forever being called. Dad, he turns, and looks at you, bewildered, his face a moving wreck of skin, a gravity-bound question mark, a fruit ripped in two, an animal that can't escape the field.
Copyright © 2010 by Eleni Sikélianòs. Used with permission of the author.