by Leigh-Anne Burley

An older man’s brown-spotted hand grasps a communion cup as his other gnarly fingers burrow like a mole into a loaf of soft bread. His white head, perched on top of a craggy neck, reads his children’s hearts like a map in the creases of his palms. His prayers are like fragments of ancient scripts carved into his sunken chest. 

His white-winged eyebrows take flight like a dove from Noah’s Ark. Firelight casts memories of his children’s laughter and glowing faces on log walls. In the blue haze of the hearth, one contented man folds up his legs and dies.

Leigh-Anne Burley was born in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, and resides in Virginia with her husband of 42 years. She has three children and six grandchildren. Leigh-Anne has a BA in English and an MA in Pastoral Counseling. She is published in nonfiction, fiction, and poetry. Leigh-Anne enjoys walking and hiking in nature, reading, writing and movies.