Pathway

Pathway
Photo by prkos (copied from Flickr)

Photo by prkos (copied from Flickr)

For Jodorowsky and Ron Bushy

The pathway has a velour tenderness—though I’ve seen better. Anyway, you say you’re happy, and that’s what I care about. Or do I? At the end of the path lies—well, I’m not sure what lies at the end of the path. In any case, it’s more pleasant to linger. The trees have such big friendly leaves; they look like circus tents. The leaves and the darkness mingle, the night air is humid, and some kind of fancy insects are flying above the treetops. This park, or forest, or whatever you want to call it, might be beautiful. You keep wanting to stop and kiss. The people who stroll by in their jumpers and sneakers ignore us. I say: “What about your mom?” And you say: “We have pop music for forgetfulness.” “You’re quite the jokester,” I say. “I thought pop music was for vestigial religion.” “Hallelujah,” you say.

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Peter Vilbig is a writer and teacher living in Brooklyn, New York. He is a former journalist who covered politics, war, and refugees in Central America and later government, crime, and culture in Miami, Washington, D.C., and New York. His reporting from Central America appeared in The Boston Globe, and he was a staff writer for The Miami Herald. His short fiction has appeared in 3:AM Magazine, Baltimore Review, Drunken Boat, Fleeting, Horizon Review, The Ledge Poetry and Fiction Magazine, The Linnet's Wings, Saranac Review, Shenandoah, and Tin House, among other publications. He is currently completing a collection of short fiction.

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