"Morocco," by Anne Fox

Morocco is a place I have never been. Its very name conjures images of magic like those Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino. But here Morocco is mentioned with specific yearning. Photographs can lie. We all know that. This narrator wrestles with it too, a mother who prefers to settle for the lie. “Father’s plans were too big for the camera’s eye.” The narrator’s poetic language and longing for Morocco is startling in how the images of that destination contrast with what is: “The cobweb imprisons a shadow on the ceiling, hanging like tatters on the edge of feeling.” To wish this narrator a bon voyage with a good map read the story here in Able Muse.