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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 9, Number 1, March 2015

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Sharon Lask Munson
Eugene, Oregon, USA


Undercover

When her mother leaves the house, the child walks into the large hall closet, pulls down the stairway leading to the attic, climbs up into the cold musty space at the top of the house.

A mahogany buffet sits to the right of the entrance, its drawers filled with photos of strangers, faded letters tied in black ribbon, a scattering of hairpins, and a leather change purse filled with foreign coins. In a secret space behind the photos rests a filigree brooch, a gentleman's pocket watch, one extra long string of pearls, and a tattered Star of David—yellow threads still attached. Best, is a trunk packed with evening dresses she carefully slips on—gazes at herself in a cracked mirror stored along the wall.

Her ear is attuned to the front door. When she hears the creak and grate she scampers down. On the few occasions her mother asks if she had been in the attic, the child blinks her blue eyes in astonishment.

risk
solitude
only the willows

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end

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