A Liminal Intruder

by Ariel M. Goldenthal

You told me that the ocean held your family’s secrets for centuries and that the rope tethering us ashore could fray without warning. We danced along the edge of the icy water, your hand in mine, smooth rocks coarse against fresh cuts on the soles of my feet.

You said the stairs were too steep; the electrical, too old for me to be alone by the sea. You didn’t tell me you’d be the nightmare worse than the wind-scraping of oak tree branches against shutters.

Now the house keeps all my secrets and more than the remnants of your pain.   

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ARIEL M. GOLDENTHAL is an associate professor of English at George Mason University. Her work has appeared in The Citron Review, Fractured Lit, Exposition Review, and others. Read more at www.arielmgoldenthal.com. 

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