The Washerman’s Son by Adreyo Sen
A white square.
A diary without its covers.
He caressed it in his dark hands.
So much love.
“Give it to me,” I said,
“Or I will not be your friend.”
The washerman’s son looked at me mute,
Then he handed me his love.
I walked out
Followed by his wordless screams.
I did not return.
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Adreyo Sen recently finished her MFA from Stony Brook, Southampton. Her interests lie in magic realism, fantasy and Victorian Literature.