Setton M y father eats figs the way he eats his past, spits out the skin. She watches me with green eyes and razor lips. He eats figs, watches my sister and me, white tulle and ballet shoes, arms raised, as we pirouette on broken pavement.
Mom mans the record player.
Dancing dolls with painted cheeks, swaying like the palms we've already forgotten. We dance and dance, and it's years before we see him again. Ruth Knafo Setton's novel, THE ROAD TO FEZ, was recently published by Counterpoint Press. Her poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction have appeared in many journals and anthologies.