Outside is the rain half the world waits for as much as we hate it at times; it gives us whatever we can gather from the energy that is frozen and makes up the world I swore I’d never live in. But like everything else it passes on its way to teaching me which way to turn. In the meantime, left with nothing but dreams and memory, I’m practicing for the death we all know is coming, that none of us know how to face. I keep trying the prayers and other means as if each could be a plot twist in the novel I keep wishing I could write. All I want to end with is the person who points down the street.
Directions
Further Reading
Parts I Know
by Tisha Marie Reichle-Aguilera
I can see his whole face. He strolls toward me, grin wide, eyes shaded by blue Bruin cap.
REQUIEM by Cindy M. Carter
The first bullet makes a brand new hole in a history vermilion. Potholes, bullet holes, dark stains upon the paving stones. Months from now, all this will be replaced. Heads, arms, legs, trunks, tanks, guns, bitumen and bicycles. One long row of cycles crashes to the ground. It will be some time before the corpses […]
UHF ODE by John Repp
All we can expect from children is the memory the monk has of the time he was attached. —Adam Gopnik Saturdays are not what they used to be during my personal Neolithic, Sky King & Penny dipping their wings toward the desert floor, oiled Steve Reeves in the gladiator pit thrilling my brother, Ramar of […]
