take wing, make prayer

take wing, make prayer

fiction
edward w pritchard

Take wing, make prayer and carry me back to the second floor walk up apartment to the bedroom that overlooked the roof of the screened in porch. It was so hot in that bed room even late, late at night. From the bed across the roof of that screened in porch we saw a billion miles out into space, stars and moons and closer to home satellites and space stations racing across the sky. Talk of then, whisper of us, that's what was, us and forever, long long ago, cool breezes brought warm rattling rains after midnight and night lasted longer than now or ever before. Pass the wine and fancy crackers lying there in bed and tell me about your childhood. Take wing and make prayer and carry me back to that second floor bedroom. I'd listen so so carefully to remember everything you said. Things don't last long, everything changes. What would I give to be there with you for a few hours. Uncomplicated hours, without the need for strategic behavior or understanding someone's feelings and motives.

That drafty old apartment is gone now, where we parked your car is a parking lot and I don't drive by there anymore. Youth is gone too. Memory endures, being so hot that someone used the pillow for a fan and drinking wine laying down flat and seeing past the stars and holding someone so tight, afraid to be alone again someday. Going to sleep late late at night and waking up next to someone warm and special.