Who Are You?

by Adam Jeffries Schwartz

At the deli this morning
an elderly woman asked for a cigarette.

I looked up from the want ads.
I saw her with a bun of hair and a lace dress—
waltzing before the war.

I saw her husband's waxed moustache.
I saw her sewing what was left
of the jewels into the lining of a dress. Then
I saw what was left of her
and gave her a cigarette.

She put it into an ivory holder
and waited.

"Who are you?" She said, exhaling smoke.

"I have no idea.
sorry.
I'm completely lost.

She smiled as she leaned into me,
"But not for long. You will give birth to yourself."

"What happens then?"
"Oh, the usual things:
war
famine
plague
rampant stupidity, also

—for you—
I bequeath my wings.
You can come close
or soar away
as you see fit.
Thanks for the cigarette."

She kissed me
on both cheeks and left.

The Author

Adam Jeffries Schwartz is a writer and a traveler. He has stories in Descant and Grimm Magazines, Petit Journal and in the anthology, Walking Higher. Online he pops up at many sites, including Ghoti (Fish) Magazine, Melane, LitBits, Magazine Shiver, Caprice & Anacoenesis Literary Journal.