Instead of watching you, I watch your shadow. Your singing jars us listeners—innocence shouldn’t sound like that. On the auditorium wall behind you, the skirt we picked out together looks too short and the dark curves of your hips bloom out against the bleak industrial paint. After, I meet you with roses and we go out for cake to celebrate. I see a gash of lipstick on your front tooth as you chew--only coffee for me. At home, I kiss you goodnight and crawl into my cool and empty sheets. It’s your future that finally crushes me to sleep.
Author Bio:
Sarah K. Stephens earned her doctorate in Developmental Psychology in 2007 and teaches a variety of courses on human development as a university lecturer. Although Fall and Spring find her in the classroom, she remains a writer year round.
Author Bio:
Sarah K. Stephens earned her doctorate in Developmental Psychology in 2007 and teaches a variety of courses on human development as a university lecturer. Although Fall and Spring find her in the classroom, she remains a writer year round.
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