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.