by Stella B. James
We used to swing here all the time, remember? I’ve forgotten many things with each passing year, but the image of my feet kissing the sky as my stomach fluttered with excitement remains as fresh as if I were fourteen again.
“Push me higher!” I’d call out. I can almost feel your hands on my back, hear you chuckling behind me. You always stood off to the side, watching my hair flow wildly behind me. You’d grab the chains, call me your little bird, and kiss me.
And now, I sit on that very swing, watching your ashes float away from me.
“Push me higher.”
Stella B. James is a Southern girl who appreciates strong coffee and martinis as dry as her sense of humor. You can find her short story at Everyday Fiction. Check out her Instagram @stellabjames, where she shares her writing and inner musings.
Oh this is so poignant.Death and loss is beautiful and ugly in equal measures.