By Vinny Senguttuvan
Swirls of smoke, a forgotten sun – small solaces. Loaned shirt, black tie. Skipped lunch. It’s ancestral weight that hurts my stomach. That fold of cloth strangling my neck.
Every seven a streetcar, a red blur. I’ve counted four – time to step in. But I stay, let the tobacco glow. Five. Wheels screech on. Curling smoke like ribbons over my fingers. Six. I want aboard, to leave behind the bounty of inherited memories. Seven. Eight. Lose count.
Child’s tactic – let them find me. But what are polar options when equator is sought. I’ll conjure azure waters and lemon sharks.
Vinny Senguttuvan is writer, photographer and data scientist. His short stories have been published at many places including Emerson Review and Word Riot. He is currently finishing up a novel.
Photograph by Vinny Senguttuvan