Blue sky, before my eyes.
Hard stone slab under my head and green cool grass tickling my arms.
(We buried him two years ago and two years ago there were sunflowers.)
Yellow, green, blue and the white church.
North Dakota.
(Now it is wheat, and I have returned, an alien in my father's country.)
This will be the last time we stay at the farm, though I don't know it yet.
Gold, green, blue and white.
Home, or home-like?
(He left when he was just a little boy, but the wind was always calling him. And I'll never understand why.)
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Not Dottie
If there was anything Abigail loved more about her job at the aquarium than scuba diving with the sharks, it was working the late shift all alone. After the visitors and front of house teams had departed, the muzak had been shut off and the lights dimmed, she could focus on her work and the animals. Plus a couple times each night she was literally empowered to do nothing but log the status of the exhibits. She was given a checklist and a few basic tools and a flashlight to use. From her walk through of the submerged tunnel with the silently moving sharks, rays, red drum, jacks, and sea turtles casting ever fluctuating shadows all around her, to her temperature and pressure checks in the loud, but static, pump room, she was left to her own devices. Heaven.
By Adelheid Berg3 years ago in Horror
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WARNING. I will be tapping into one of your favorite creative tensions: The absurdity of humans worshipping their glowing rectangles as if they were tiny oracles. There’s something deliciously poetic about that contradiction, and it lends itself beautifully to an instructive proviso.
By Novel Allen5 days ago in Poets
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