As Featured in Under the Wing
A Short Story by O.G. Rose
We mustn’t remember everything — what misery. Fiction. Father, no, I don’t know if I did something wrong. After the suitcase and taxi. Do you live in this claustrophobic booth, listening? Nestled out of love on the floor, beneath the nest’s barred window? Mental. Within me — that is what concerns — what incubates under the flesh that tries with years to sag off — uncovering. Unspeakable. Beautiful? Father, I’ve read my palm open with a knife and baptized my thumb to drip on, pass over, and paint this oak wall that, if I reach you, is a red door. And, Christ, the image, I’ve studied. Is this cesarean or abortive? Nestle. Confess.
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For the rest of the story, please see Under the Wing by O.G. Rose, available on Amazon in both Paperback and Kindle.
