"Where's Heaven..." He says.

 

My little brother didn’t understand.

He dragged a chair, stood on it, pressed his lips to the glass frame of the picture on the wall and whispered, "Baba, come out.”

When my mother saw this, she panicked, snatched him away so hard the chair tipped over, and his knee bruised on the floor.

She wept holding him, but not for the bruise.

Her tears belonged to something much deeper, the unbearable weight of being asked a question no mother wants to answer. 

"Where's heaven... where's dad?"

© amimoh_ombogo