Image of a Mother

By Yash Seyedbagheri

I lay out cards with images. Try to match them.

       I need two mothers.

             Two apples. Two squirrels.

       I can’t find either of the mothers with the sly smiles, tender pride in their eyes.

       I keep those cards close at night. We love you, Nicky, the mothers whisper. We truly love you.

       The mothers have been with me since I was ten. They listened to me question why people lie. Leave.

       I find two houses, two fathers. Ransack closets, sofas.

       Have these mothers left? Was I too inquisitive? Did they also find me sensitive?

       I lose the other cards.

What’s next?