“I admit, it was a kneejerk reaction,” John shivered. We were both nearly naked and dripping wet. The dive I took into the frozen lake was an accident, and John did his best to rescue me. He had a conscience after all. It was his fault that I broke in, in the first place. So he pulled me out, brought me back to the mansion. The blanket I had on my shoulders started itching. I hoped his itched as well. Continue reading “bruises”
A cough ripped at my head and throat. I felt like I had razors for dinner. All was wet and dark. A grey reddish blur was all I could make out. My left hand stretched out to grab at the world. My head hurt and swam, and I shut my eyes. Fingers crossed my brows and came away sticky and warm. Continue reading “Waves”
The rock wall flew past. I clawed at it. The climbing harness dug into my thighs and waist, yanked me back. I felt Nick’s dead weight pulling under me. “Don’t let go!” I yelled, but a gust took my voice. I swung out of control.
My Norse jars through the blizzard. Last century, my words were softer, not so alien to my own ears and tongue. The night howls around me, insulating me from any suicidal hikers or locals on the trail.
The clump of ancient firs is the only peaceful place now.
As if the squalls know not to disturb the place. The red markings on the trees and the snow steam.
I call out the sentinel, curious what form it’ll assume. Continue reading “Back Home”
I was a stone, hurtling through a shopwindow
I was the motherly impulse in a black widow
darkness whispered in my head, about divine justice
crushing ideas to bits, into dry powdery numbness
My hands shake as I carry in the tray. These last few steps are the hardest, and the porcelain rattles a bit. Our old blue pot and the golden rimmed cups from our wedding. Ginny is so brave.
I remind myself, there is no other way. “Jack, how wonderful!” She beams up to me happily, but I know she cries herself to sleep. It’s our 62nd anniversary. “It’ll go fast,” I tell her, “it’s foxglove.”