from my unpublished collection
Time has stopped. And yet, I can still think this sentence. I can turn to my friend. Long shadows lie across the hillside from the trees around us. No birds anywhere, no insects.
I thought you were dead, I tell him. Why didn’t you call.
He looks surprised. Lifts his hands up to his face as if he’s never seen two human hands before. Your friend died years ago, he tells me. Cut it out.
What do you want, I say.
What do you want, it replies. Perhaps I can help.
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First published in Prairie Schooner
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images and text © by Alpay Ulku
