Night had never been Robert’s friend. He never found solace swimming in moonlight and starlight had always been colder than ice.
His mother left him at night to his father who longed for his mother.
Womanless starving they ceased to talk. They grew thinner together — father and son trying to mother each other in vain.
His father gave up in November and Robert kept the urn with his ash in their living room. They aged together musing in the absence of mothers.
Years later Robert still sails through the Havisham-dust of his childhood home. He is grey and silent; only his shadow shouts.
On a nightmare scream, his mother is there — again. Bright as moon-silver, laughing again. He feels his knife again, picks up the shovel, leaves for the garden; the flowerbeds bathing in moonlight.
He starts digging… Cries…
“Mother, you’re back…”
Today I host Prosery at dVerse where we incorporate one line from a piece of poetry into a piece of prose of no more than 144 words. The line today comes from Maya Angelou’s poem “Caged Bird” and says: “his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream”.
May 11, 2020