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| Innsmouth |
The clouds
slide by in a dance of blues and whites and grays. There is a moon in the sky
and the child asks her mother “why is
there a moon? I thought the moon was only out at night?” The mother has no
time to explain. She knows. She asks herself why, a different why but
a why as strong as her child’s why. They
will not own her, they will not own her, she repeats incessantly until the
murmur in her mind fades away. By then her child is gone while the moon still
shines above dancing with clouds in blue and white and gray.
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