“Mom we forgot Kitty in your closet”. I said.
“We’ll return tomorrow once it beats them all”. Mom responded.
I was so excited! That August 1974 morning, Turkish airplanes were flying over the sky of Cyprus bombing the city of Famagusta.
What a game!
I was five.
Today, the only return path is my mother’s wrinkles; an ironic game of life, of perseverance.
My father is working endlessly to forget.
Why?
I guess my son gave the answer!
“Dad, grandma shouldn’t have locked it in her closet. Your kite could fly in the sky and beat them all”.
“We’ll return tomorrow once it beats them all”. Mom responded.
I was so excited! That August 1974 morning, Turkish airplanes were flying over the sky of Cyprus bombing the city of Famagusta.
What a game!
I was five.
Today, the only return path is my mother’s wrinkles; an ironic game of life, of perseverance.
My father is working endlessly to forget.
Why?
I guess my son gave the answer!
“Dad, grandma shouldn’t have locked it in her closet. Your kite could fly in the sky and beat them all”.
