The Spear Cuts Through Water

by Simon Jimenez

“This is a love story to its blade-dented bone.”

Fathers leave in all sorts of ways. Some of them leave in the dark. Some leave only in their heads, while their bodies remain,

“You know as well as I that there are no odds in this world. There is only the Rhythm, and the Dance. That we are but the dancers.”

Blame is an endless circle. And I seemed to be standing in the center of it.

You can fault the dancer, but more often than not, it is the dance itself that has to change.

We were his guilt, and we would rob him of every intimacy.

But though I cannot help but wish that when the world quirks and shudders, we have the wherewithal to listen, even I cannot deny how difficult it can be, to accept that sometimes, to survive, we must change our course.”

We are called to our parents like sirens.

“Fuck off,” he said, which, to Keema’s ears, had the same melody as I love you.

Violence between the people rose as they fought for the supremacy of their reality.