Nagler’s Secret; To light

Driving in circles.

Past the houses he knew.

The train station, dark and hollow, the train yard grumbling, empty cars, lighted chariots.

The darkness of the ghetto. Broken frames, leaning walls, cries sucked into the air, neither joy nor pain.

 Bulldoze it, crush it, grind it to dust.

 Burn it.

Nagler shook his head.

Wouldn’t matter.

It’s all about memory. Broken streets, shattered lives. The shrieks of the wounded, the barren, the lost.

Couldn’t create enough fire to destroy it all; it would settle, ash, dust, the scent in the hair of your nose.

A midnight gas station, neon, yellowed and buzzing.

Coffee he didn’t need.

Four roses, red and yellow, plastic wrapped.

The kitchen light still on.

Lauren stretched asleep.

Blankets at her waist.

Roses brushed her spine; pebbled flesh.

Her face turned, one eye open. Half a smile.

This, he thought, is light.

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