Some say the primary key to parenthood is presence, but in “Waiting for Halley’s Comet Again” by Kara Kahnke, readers are given a glimpse of love so strong it defies the distance of absence. The narrator in this concise, circular microfiction tells her son a beautiful “lie” that resounds into the “dark sky” like cosmic truth. —Court Harler
When I was five, I believed someone painted the comet with glowing brushstrokes above us just for Dad and me to watch. The comet’s light burned hope into the dark sky. Dad promised me he’d live another seventy-five years. He squeezed my hand. “I’ll make it.”
I squeezed back tighter.
Now, I teach my son to gaze skyward. “Mom, if I swallow falling stars, will I glow?”
I lie too, just to see my five-year-old’s best smile. “They’ll dissolve in your tummy, shooting light beams from your fingertips.” His right cheek dimples, reflecting Dad’s grin.
When my gray streaks whiten, and age spots join my freckles, my son and I will search the sky. I’ll lie to myself, convincing my heart that I see Dad riding on the light.
KARA KAHNKE lives in Tempe, Arizona. Her work appears in BULL, Micromance Magazine, Raw Lit, Under the Gum Tree, The Citron Review, and other places. Find her on Bluesky @karakahnke.bsky.social.
Featured image by Reign Abarintos, courtesy of Unsplash.
Flash the Court 