by Cecilia Araneda
The shadows I saw that day when I was still knee high. I thought nothing of them then, but they remained. Standing under the sink looking up past the shadows. The light was further than my height. The light. It reflected off the sink and back up again. It touched my father’s face and made more shadows. It was always up above me.
And my father. He stared straight ahead then, though he knew I was there. He was looking at his reflection. I couldn’t see the mirror though, it was too far above me. But I could see the way his hand held the razor. Smooth the way it flowed. I held the razor in my hand once he had left. Felt the weight of it. It was silver, but it wasn’t shiny. And the light. When it touched the razor it was lost.