Without Hearing Gunfire
By Andrew Payton
If I spent every daybreak on this balcony,
the man walking three pugs would become ritual
in the way I once knew the schedule of a fox
who crossed the bay window on mornings snow
covered tracks in the mountains. My wife and I
have two languages but still lack words to touch
what we hold. On the morning of the balacera,
I take a walk but avoid streets where bodies were made.
Once the sun makes the balcony unbearable,
I go hunting for a snack and place a slice of mango
on my wife’s tongue while she changes our son’s diaper.
This is the closest we have ever felt to being one.
This story originally appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 19. Support local booksellers and independent publishers by ordering a print copy of the magazine.
Photo by Jakub Kriz