Kathleen Tankersley Young
It was December before we knew it and then january soon after. We never knew how these days passed and the nights seemed to run one into another with the usual drinking and meetings in the bars and dancing places wearing soft dresses and laughing. We walked on the sea walk and stopped on the hard green benches. When we had stopped we put our arms about each other and kissed for a long time. It was beginning to be early morning but it was still dark and no sun. We came for a long way by the sea and the sound of water and the roar of the wind in the palm trees. He came into the hospital room wearing a yellow tie. There were small oranges under my pillow to get the scent of them. The shutters were closed and the room dark and warm and the air hugged the odor of dying roses. He talked of the impossible, saying this thing is impossible. The man on the corner was weaving a fishnet. Back and forward and under and over his black hands went and the children were standing still watching his mov
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