I asked you to bring me chocolate chips

You brought me a river

Really, I said

It’s healthier, you replied

Slipping into the light as I drank the cool water


I shouldn’t ask you to bring me things


I’m trying on all these people I could become

Like someone who drinks rivers and doesn’t eat chocolate chips as if they are candy

They are a kind of candy, you said

No they aren’t, I said

Ok, you said, with that knowing look

I hate your knowing looks, I said

I know, you said, and left the room


I thumbed the coffee table dinosaur book


I was petulant, reluctant to be denied

I still want chocolate chips, I said

No, you said

Why, I said

Because we are out, you said

Oh, I said, and sipped again from the river,

Pale in my hand

Christie Wilson lives in Illinois. Her work appears in various places including Atticus Review, apt, Driftwood Press, and New World Writing. Visit her at www.christiewilson.net or follow her @5cdwilson.

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