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ONE WAY TICKET
He steps off the train. He looks around expecting her to be there. She said she would meet him. It is why he came. She does not answer her phone. As the night approaches, he gets a text message, waits patiently for the next train back to where he started. Appeared in 50 Word Stories,…
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OF A WOMAN
I wasn’t born a woman,I cannot bear a child,I cannot carry a fetus nine monthsI cannot feel the morning sickness,I cannot nurse a child once born,I cannot cease to be who I ambecause I had a child,I cannot be raped and made pregnant,I cannot be subject incestmaking me pregnant,I cannot go through the pains of…
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A MOMENT
It is 1952, April, and Iam handed to the woman.I am wrapped in a thin blanket,the tall man is standing beside her.I do not recall this, but thisis how it must have happened,she finally a mother, hea father despite infertility.I do not recall her, the womanwho perhaps never held meonce I exited her body, whohid…
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AT THE CAFE
We sit acrossfrom each otherseparated bythe small tablethat teeters,her cappuccinolicking at the rim.My toes danceagainst hersand she looks upquizzically.I smile and reachfor her handtouching her fingersfeeling the fine silverof the rings on each.She pulls her handback and looksinto the richbrown sheen.I stare out the windowat the odd carlookingfor a spacein the overfull lot,then pullingback ontothe…
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SHE
You were a young beautyto my middle aged eyesthat knew, despite the mirror’slies, that I too retainedsome large measure of youth. Even that is now behind us,and I can no longer denythe mirror’s sad truth,my face unable to belie whatI knew time had wrought. And yet your beauty hasnot diminished, rather grownas does a fine…
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MACHISMO
He was fond of sayingthat men need to toughen up,show more fortitude, taketime for serious male bonding. He would prattle on abouthow so many men werenot true men anymore,warped by modern society. I tried my best to avoid him,to quickly end our encounters andwhen I could not, for he wouldinevitably complain of loneliness. Still, I…
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PURPOSES
Life, she said, is all aboutfinding purpose not things. It was hard to argue with her,as she overwhelmed with examples. Rice filling a small bowlholds an incense stick up and catches the ashesas they fall quietly down.. A cracked plate can situnder a plant, catching any overflow from itscareful daily watering. And old fleece jacket…
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LIFE, ABBREVIATION
Arrival noted, 11:30 P.M.delivery normal, babyprepared for agency, motherreleased in two days, babyto foster care, thento adoptive parents. No memories, save one,a fall, bathroom, headbleeding, black and whitefloor tile, radiator harderthan child’s skull. Now 70, the same person,a lying mirror each day,a small cemetery, WestVirginia, a headstonea mother finally,a life of mourning.
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WORDS, WORDS, WORDS
My mother surrouned mewith books, “read, read”she would endlessly say. And if I had a question,“Look it up, it’s why webought the encyclopedia.” I became a voracious reader,skilled at finding answers,never stopping to think. Now, years later, I knowwhy I had to read, whyI had to look things up. What she never said, butwhat she…
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CASSANDRA IN FLORIDA
She is large, and largely immobileand occupies the bench by the roadthat encircles the property like a noose. She does this each day, a crustor more of stale bread tucked awayin a pocket of her always floral housedress that envelopes herand the bench she occupiesas a monarch on her throne. The ibis see her coming…
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an old writer and his words 