Boomboxes and Bottle Rockets
We write these letters to one another, with no idea how to address them, or how to close them. My “hello”is gaping and blank, like the twelve long years before it came.
I am careful not to ask too many questions or appear to need anything. I am sidestepping one thousand landmines, explosions that go like this: how could you leave me, do you ever think about me, why haven’t you tried to find me? They reverberate beneath the surface, and I fear he feels them.
I hold my breath again. While my sisters become women, and my father begins to die.