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Cathy
Gilbert holds
a B.A. in English from Illinois Weslayan University and is working towards an MA
at the University of Chicago. When she’s not studying or writing she daydreams
about becoming a nightclub singer—if only she could sing. Her work has also
appeared in The
Madison Review Sisters Between covers and
realities I was falling into the dark, chasing sleep. The phone rang, but I couldn't be sure of the whispers in the hallway. My door opened, the shaft of light becoming my mother. A question. Extra blankets carried out. Later the doorbell chimed
my aunt's arrival. The door moaned in response: Trouble
with husbands. Shuffling of feet. A sob
snuck through the wall and told me I was on the outside, that my aunt was no longer my aunt, my mother not my mother. They were shoulders for each other's tears, mirrors of each other's defeat. I lay awake with an image: dark-grey hair on pillows, weeping hushed with the brush of a quiet hand, wrinkled faces and rounded bodies sharing a bed like children. It didn't matter who would be reaching out for whom; their frailty painted strength—a sad warmth I couldn't explain. |
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