On The Rise

He rounded the bend, face intent, legs splayed at an awkward angle as one foot dragged. His tongue lolled out, tasted air as the finish line came in sight.

She stood waiting; love, devotion, pain and grief transmuted in her face. And I watched, remembered.

‘Time to make bread,’ she’d say, laughing, hiding the ache in fingers kneading soft round legs.

In the oven, bread rose slowly, as the rhythm of her hands tried to bring strength to muscles he couldn’t use. Later as each loaf emerged, golden and crisp, my fingers tapped crust and legs in a message of hope.

I bit into my sandwich. He staggered across the finish line; eyes sparkling innocent triumph.

• favorite this
• report a concern

Add your comment

You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.