Sun bathes the eyes. I am here and waiting.
Waiting for something new. Something alive and
dead to return. The sun dives down. Where are you going?
In the darkness of this room, I can’t see a thing.
Writer in San Francisco, CA
Sun bathes the eyes. I am here and waiting.
Waiting for something new. Something alive and
dead to return. The sun dives down. Where are you going?
In the darkness of this room, I can’t see a thing.
A Note About This Poem: Questioning how we ‘see’ our dreams, how we ‘talk’ about them (to ourselves or to people). The strange occurrence when dreams seem to have a plotline (a story to tell) and how we think about these stories as somehow linked to each other.
Eyes wash lips hold
secrets unfold, unfolding
like dreams that link
together into visions
that linger, simmering
in the back of the brain.
Enjoyed this poem? Hit the LIKE button or leave a comment!
Here is the third and final part of my “Bertha” short story series. I’d love your feedback, leave a comment below!
Bertha is gone! Emilio rushes over to the edge of the bar. Her stool is empty and Bertha is on the floor motionless. A few other patrons stand up and look over. Someone is laughing a little bit, “Must’ve been one hell of a beer!”
Emilio runs back around the bar and calls for Peter the manager. Now that people see his reaction a few others come other quickly to see what’s going on.
Emilio is on his knees, he pulls her hair out of her face. Her eyes are open, the glass eye fixed on him. Emilio shudders.
“Call an ambulance! I think she’s had a stroke or something! I think she’s dying!”
Emilio hears Peter start to yell for everyone to get back. Peter barks orders to a server to call for an ambulance. Peter is trained in CPR and it’s not the first time Emilio sees him move the head of a patron and check for a pulse.
Time seems to slow down. It feels like forever before the EMT’s show up. But well before then, Peter has already given up on Bertha.
No pulse, no breathing, nothing. He tried CPR on her for a few minutes, then the silence spread throughout the bar.
Peter sighed, “She’s dead.”
THE END
Check out more of my short stories, poetry, and fiction writing today!