1930 Obscurity

He could not understand why.

A month ago his father had been the mayor

of their town, and now he worked as a brick

layer in the street. Or why his mama’s smile,

which used to light up the room, now always

seemed to be a frown in disguise.

That night, at the dinner table, he asked

why they were drinking water instead of milk.

“We can’t afford milk anymore,” his

mother said honestly, a look of apologetic sorrow

shadowing her face. The darkening

sky outside became void of sympathy.

He and his siblings shared their clothes,

even if they didn’t fit, and took turns wearing

the sturdy winter shoes. There was never anything

new anymore, except for the boarders

that filtered in and out of their once grand

house, which was now slowly dilapidating.

He missed the days when the house and the

town weren’t filled with worry, but he didn’t

want to upset anyone by asking where those

days had gone.

He could not understand why.

There was nothing anymore.