Small Spaces with Hard Walls by Kathleen Latham

If an echo’s delay
is proportional to distance,
maybe that explains
why memory arrives
on its own accord.
It takes time to travel
over craggy mountain tops
and red canyons,
over honking, hammering
streets of grey,
over ribbons of roads
stretched taut
through fields of beige,
over green and green
and green and arrive,
barely muted,
in the cold, small space
of my heart.
Maybe, if I could soften
those folds, if I could yield
somehow, I’d be spared
the reverberations
that ripple
through my body
like a shudder.



Kathleen Latham’s work has most recently appeared or is forthcoming in 100 Word Story, Bright Flash Literary Review, Boston Literary Magazine, and Fictive Dream. She lives outside of Boston, Massachusetts with her husband and an ornery cat and can be found online at KathleenLatham.com.