Witness

In my mother’s absence, I spent a night at her apartment. Puffs of air chilled our glistening skin before leaving us to bask in heat for a few moments more. Wilted and weak, I waited for sleep. Looking across my lover’s quiet body, I remembered and smiled, comfortable in my nakedness.  
 
The only witness to the love we’d made was a twenty-dollar plastic bladed pedestal fan purring from the corner. This yellowed fan that cooled my summer nights from childhood seemed to strain with each oscillation. Did she sense what had been given this night? Did the fan feel sadness?