• Yash Seyedbagheri

Evening Song | By Yash Seyedbagheri

At dusk, I leave dark rooms and packaging my sister’s DVDs and clothes. I go out onto the deck, replete with Spotify playlist and glass of Merlot. Nan and I used to do this nightly.

Looking out onto cathedrals of pines, sweeping hills, and lingering snow, I blast Debussy, Tchaikovsky, Beethoven, notes mingling with peaceful expanses. All of Nan’s favorites. She loved Romanticism, hated restraint. Formalism.

I fill and refill the Merlot, keep the playlist going. Images of Nan’s smile rise into the air, knowing and crooked. Nan and me twirling in the middle of a country road. Laughter, crackling and untrammeled by expectation, bursting.

But lavender and peach give way to navy blue expanses. Stars creep out. Blue turns to black.

Nan’s smile disappears. A truck roars down the road, oblivious to the ice. The ice that glimmers menacing and clear under a full moon. The ice no one cleaned.

Meanwhile, copies of Cyrus, The Big Lebowski, and lavender nightgowns await their departure.

I walk into the house, the music fading, each step slower and longer.


Yash Seyedbagheri is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His stories, "Soon,” “How To Be A Good Episcopalian,” and "Tales From A Communion Line," were nominated for Pushcarts. Yash’s work has been published in The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts, Write City Magazine, and Ariel Chart, among others.

39 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All