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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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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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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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SOPHIE
She maintained an aura of what sheimagined was elegance, a carefullyconstructed persona carried outin the most careful details. Her furniture had slipcovers, lestsomeone spill and mar the fabric,a tea cart always at the readyalthough I never saw her serve tea. She spoke with carefully chosenwords, certainly not the vernacularof the city, perhaps of Londonwhere she…
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MINDFUL
I saw the sunrise this morningover Mt. Hood, theglow that announcedto the horizon its approach.There should bein the life of every man,every woman, that momentwhen seeing dawnlift, peel back the shroudfrom Mt. Hood causes the suddenintake of just that much extra breath. Publshed in As Above, So Below, Issue 9, August 2022https://issuu.com/bethanyrivers77/docs/as_above_so_below_issue_9
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STET-US QUO
The mind can bea brutal editor, revisinghistory, rejecting memorieswithout a substantial rewrite. My step sister, many yearsdead remains five, thatyoung face engraftedon the woman ravagedby unrelenting cancers. My first wife of 30 yearsis mostly faceless, themental pictures and dreamsedited until only sheis unrecognizable. And in moments of reflectionI am no longer adopted,the step-siblings were,but they…
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STARING
She sits demurely on the stepstaring off at something.You want to know what buther face isn’t saying, her eyessoft, revealing nothing, her smileenticing, teasing, and out of grasp. You want to sit with her, seewhat she looks at, what has capturedher thoughts, and there is roomon the step for you to join her,but you have…
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ETERNAL SPRING
Spring has arrived, however begrudgingly,and the young woman pushesthe older woman’s wheelchairalong the paths of the great park.Neither speaks, but each knowsthis could be the last time they do this.That shared knowledge paintseach flower in a more vibrant hue,each fallen petal is quicklybut individually mourned for,its beauty draining back into the soil.The older woman struggles…
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LINKAGE
Linking things is a human need,tenuous forces barely holdingacross synapses easily brokenor lost, never to be replaced. Ithaca is forever joined withGalway City, and I still have notfigured out how to get the twopeople together as together isobviously what they should be. She sits at a small tablein the Commons, staring, waitingperhaps for a writer…
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MY ANNA
Along the banks of the barge canalin the village park, a manolder, his hair white, almosta mane, sits on the breakwallfeeding Wonder breadto the small flotilla of ducks.Tearing shreds of crustfrom a slice, he casts itonto the water and smilesas they bob for the crumbs.He tells them the storyof his life as thoughthey were his…
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an old writer and his words 