|(c) Steve Conway - Fog on Dublin Bay|
"You understand," my Ma had told me when I was very young, "that the pattern of the jumper is our family's. It is how we recognized the bodies of the fishermen when they washed ashore." It took me decades for the intricate cabling to not cause nightmares, and for me to ask Ma to knit one more.
My mobile told me it was 3.45 when I saw the Green, soft yellow lights glowing in a black night. A hundred years vanished under the weight of this cloud come to earth. I lit another cigarette. Wondered why sleep never came anymore.
Turned left, and fished in my pocket for the keys.
copyright 2010 by Ira David Socol