They spoke in Asian tongues in the cedar sweatshop that formed around them. I sunk down and surrendered myself to the heat finding solace in the over accented oohs and the soothing clangs they rapidly threw back and forth. The women went on in foreign conversation as I let my chest sink and rise to their comforting rhythm. The ebb and flow of their voices moved through me as a newborn prone to unknown conversation deep inside the womb. An overwhelming comfort swept the room with the warm breath of burning coals. With slow, steady breaths the heat invaded and took all sense. The talking had come to a slow dribble of syllables and the movement of the hands had ceased altogether. The women had had enough of the sweltering hot box, they gathered their cultured belongings and disappeared through the glass door. I felt a sense of longing and urgency in the remaining silence, a child left behind and forgotten. I forced myself to regain my minds composure, but instead went numb with the nothingness in its wake. I stared at the matted floor. With nostrils burning and body quenched of all resources I too removed myself from the stifling four walled cell, leaving behind nothing other than a bridged gap in its emptiness.
©m.f./Roxywaters Dec. 2010
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