A Box of Oranges

By Marie Moreau

I see you from far away, your willowy frame vacillating in the distance. I don’t call. I
don’t rush. I watch you. We never talked or even muttered a word to each other. We
may have shared a nod, a glance, an almost-smile. When we moved here, they told
us your name, but I forgot. There was a lot to take in then. Today, your silhouette
sways more than I remember, as if in a strong wind. Maybe you did not see the
cobblestone. Or maybe your legs betrayed you.

You gave me a box of oranges.

THE END

Author Bio: Marie Moreau lives in Cambridge, UK, with her partner and their daughter.

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