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by Kim Steutermann Rogers
When box turtles seek the muck of ponds and skunks the undersides of back porches. When late summer scorches squirrels and bird baths desiccate, what I want is to lock her in a vacant cellar, bury her in last season’s rotting root vegetables, single bare bulb swinging on a string.
When children swing from monkey bars and chase lightning bugs at dusk. When lovers strip down and dip in ponds. When tomatoes are eaten, corn shucked, and watermelon iced down in metal tubs, what I want is to mothball her in the attic of winter and let the mandibles of larvae dissect her dark damp detritus.
When the days tick off the calendar and the anniversary inevitably rolls around, what I really want is my long dead mother to return to earth.
Kim Steutermann Rogers lives in Hawaii. Her writing has published recently in Ghost Parachute, Five South, Fictive Dream, Lost Balloon, and elsewhere. Her stories have been nominated for Pushcart, Best Microfiction, Best Small Fiction, and Best of the Net honors.
