Dawn's Early Light
The morning he was to leave, I slipped into his room. Pale light through curtains lined-up like soldiers, tall, straight, at attention. I had to admit it looked a little glorious, but then I turned back to my boy. The quilt my own mama made was pulled right up to his chin, his mouth was open, his breathing soft like feathery wind.
Sweat glistened on his forehead and as I stroked the dampness away, he opened his eyes, confused for a moment but comfortable too. Warm. Safe under his own mama's gaze.
They say the worst thing in the world is to bury a child. I testify to that. Toby went to war because he was told it was the right thing to do. Not by me. Never me.
by Gay Degani
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