Untitled #6
Aaron Burch

I spread my arms out in presentation, prepared for something with weight: a bag of cement, a box of books, a stack of lumber.
It seems repetitive, she said.
I pulled them back in to each other, slowly, readying for something smaller, lighter. A box of breakables, a blanket, a baby. I made note of the differences in weight.
Meaning? I asked, knew.
I don't know. Too similar.
You said the last was your favorite, I said.
She thought about that, nodded her head. Maybe you shouldn't do all these for me, she said.
Maybe, I said. Maybe not.