By Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri
Mother left much. Her old typewriter, collection of Nabokov. She said he taught her to love language. And yet she left him behind. Photos of my older sister Nancy and me, smiling, also discarded, with a 1940 Episcopal hymnal. We wondered why she left no explanation. She didn’t know? Perhaps she knew well, for Nancy and I dreamed of taking flight also. Flight from hungover Dad with his ever-ubiquitous Tom Collins. A Whiskeypalian father, whose creed was self-pity. But we didn’t know why she left the things she did. We sold the typewriter, burned the pictures and books, tears rising rapidly.
By Mir-Yashar Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University’s MFA program in fiction. A recipient of two honorable mentions from Glimmer Train, his work is forthcoming or has appeared in journals such as Train Lit Mag, Sinkhole Mag, Ink In Thirds, The Courtship of Winds, and Gravel Magazine. He has also been nominated for the Best Short Fictions Anthology. Mir-Yashar lives in Fort Collins, Colorado.