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.
# # #
Adreyo Sen recently finished her MFA from Stony Brook, Southampton. Her interests lie in magic realism, fantasy and Victorian Literature.
Joy Mahar is an emergent writer living on the outskirts of Detroit. Her work has…
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