Stephen Aubrey

Between Now and Before

Eying the world through a rear view mirror, I have often believed dusk to be my favorite season because even though it does not last long, it comes more frequently than autumn, my second favorite season. Perhaps this is why I like it: dusk feels like autumn (and when I say this, wait for the undertow beneath the sound) but passes quicker and lighter on the heart. It tastes like horseradish and brings me to the front door of a home like a nightmare caught in the folds of my heart, a sense fluttering like a scared bird bleeding rusted leaves. This is the home I am always backing towards, looking forward and moving backwards (consistently amazed at how everything moves farther away.) The Russians have an untranslatable word for this: toska. A feeling like eying the world in a rear view mirror when you leave some girl you love at dusk some day in autumn and all your breath gets caught in that one moment after you hope she waves but before she does.

Stephen Aubrey's work has been published in Electric Literature, The Brooklyn Review, and Commonweal.

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