Random Thoughts

Bookends

... after forty-five years, no communication ...

Marjorie Burgess

They are seated at the morning table. His expression is that of melancholy, eyes downcast, his right hand cupping his chin. He is staring, glassy-eyed, toward the left side of the kitchen where the hutch cabinet stands holding mementos of the past forty-five years. She sits at the other end of the table, facing right, where the sunlight is streaming into the gloom-infected kitchen. The sun is doing its best to send rays of light into the void that grips their feelings. She sits, dejected, on the verge of tears, wanting to scream but remaining mute. At the far end of the table, her elbow is supporting her right arm as her right hand cups her chin. No communication. The two remain stationary, separated by the kitchen table, like two old bookends.

Feb. 05, 2000


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