His Last Move
by Odin Roark


Click.

Even with flip-flops,
the ground’s touch
went unmistakable.

You’re only a child,
but you have traveled this road often.
You’ve picked flowering weeds
for your mother,
watched them wither
in waterless ration-bottles

Beneath your mud roof
you’ve held closed your eyes,
wishing for better times,
like now.

You’ve squatted your body
ever so gently to sleep,
like now.

Such is waiting the morning.

Yes, you’ve stared all night
at a starless sky
and another life,
like now.

You’ve not wanted to uncurl
the comfort of remaining knees to chin.
Just you and your dreams,
like now

But this is different.

You open your eyes.

There’s no need to wait.
The sun has risen.
The wind is drifting sand
atop your flip-flopped foot
that never moved,
remaining still,
so very still
while you wondered what
The second click never heard
would sound like.

But now…

You try to smile.
You know it must be safer
on the other side,
that other life
away from roadside clicks,
the improvised hatred
you don’t yet understand.

Your eyes rise from your foot.
Last thoughts are of your brother always grinning
just before he moves his crudely carved queen.
His checkmate grin.

You close your eyes.

You wish you could
take back your last move.