Published in Rainy Day, v. XXXVII, No. 1 / Winter 2009
Dad left that night. He didn't even stay. He clutched his brown leather briefcase. Its brass locks twinkled once. The house was dark. His back. I watched it as it went down the hall until the hall curved and he disappeared. But not to his and Mom's room. To some other room in some other house. With his brass locks and the little numbers on the dials that unlocked the briefcase. It was hard and clean. It smelled lonely and important. It was a perfect rectangle. The handles were hard too. The leather was stitched with thick twine. I liked to spin the dials. They had neat little ridges. I liked to play with the brass locks. Flipping them open and shut. They would snap into place. They knew exactly what they were doing and what they were supposed to do.
Good, eh?
Wolf Parade - Grounds for Divorce (Apologies to the Queen Mary, 2005)
