How to Carry On
There’s that long pause again,
where Dad hesitates so briefly
that I might miss it if I wasn’t paying
attention, if I didn’t know him so well.
I know he wants to talk about it
and I so badly want to ask:
How did you find her? Does mom’s
death remind you of your mother’s?
What were the chances that you’d lose
both in the same way? How is that fair?
Do you think it was fate? Do you blame
yourself? How do you get out of bed?
But I cannot bring myself to say the words.
So instead, I go for something safe:
“How was work today? Were you guys busy?”
A hesitancy flashes in his eyes, a subtle knowing.
In his thick accent, he responds, “Oh yes, we
were slammed! Holiday weekend and all,
you know how it is.” I don’t. I have never
worked in a grocery store, he knows this.
But I will carry on this conversation
because it is safe, for both of us.
He tells me of the tomatoes that are in season
and we curl into this safety, together.
Ophelia Monet is an educator, mother, and storm chaser, living in Kentucky with her husband and their son. She began writing in 2022, after learning that her late mother was a published writer under a pseudonym. You can find her on Instagram at @mysoullaidbare.