Saturday, October 17, 2015

Cigarettes

She held him like a seasoned smoker holds a cigarette , with full awareness that if she let go, he would meet the ground, burn it, then have to be stomped by feet so callous. He held her as though she was his last cigarette, with tenderness and reverence. They did everything but let go. This was their last puff, and it could not be a corner store parking lot smoke. They knew they needed to savor the smoke, taste it, have the nicotine calm their bones like a warm winter fire. To be held like a smoker holds a cigarette is to be alive.


No comments: