Feeding the pigeons in Trafalgar Square, dressed in my prim and proper summer dress and hat, with comfortable, low heeled shoes, somehow I feel decidedly uncomfortable and improper.
Yes, my husband is filming me for the future little ones he imagines we will have. He is blind-blind to the battle going on inside of me as I carefully squat down so as not to show my slip and give some more crumbs to those dirty birds. I look so innocent.
There must be something beyond this pleasant middle class wife business. Will I forever tend to this man, first him then his children and then him again in his old age? I feel some naked force within that compels me to express something more than a smile in a home movie—yet, I don’t know how.
(from the prompts: blind, naked, pleasant, battle, pigeons)
--Terra Rafael
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