Illuminant Ruminant

The illuminant ruminant 

chewed ideas until cogitation coalesced 

and a bulb burst above her head 

birthing a thought 

which grew into dream 

which became a plan 

which graduated to an action 

thus propelling the

illuminant ruminant 

from her place among the herd 

to an elevated echelon 

where she mentored more and 

initiated less 

eventually becoming a figure head 

and then just a head 

from which spouted 

light and meaning and wisdom 

but her acolytes took no action 

because they were 

mere ruminants minus the 

illuminance 

which left them fuming, impotent 

and empty 

and left her 

just a head 

of 

the 

herd.

Evolve

I am heavy

A blue whale on

dry land

struggling over rocks and

needle sharp grass

skin parched

soul lonely

yearning for

comfort

Destined for change

I push on

To survive

To evolve

anticipation

I wait for the walls to break,

dream of the end of a pandemic.

Will we cease to treat others with

suspicion and fear

or

is this a symptom of a

deeper-rooted illness.

Divide sometimes

drives us.

It may define us.

It lines us up in

Front-facing firing squads

each eager to pull the trigger

first. After all,

survival depends on being

in the right.

Left with a choice of this or that,

I choose those,

And anticipate a time of union.

Am I innocent

or ignorant?

Yes.

And hopeful.

The Transformation

The front door slammed. Bernard looked up from his newspaper, his caterpillaresque eyebrows raised in question. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially at this time of night.

The lamp over his shoulder cast strange shadows across the living room. He strained to see who had entered his home, but there was neither movement nor sound from the foyer. Strange.

Bernard folded the paper and set it on the end table, pausing to ensure that the edges of paper aligned with the edge of the table.

“Who’s there?” he called. “You may as well come in.”

Still nothing.

The grandfather clock in the corner began its sonorous gonging to announce the end of today and the beginning of tomorrow. As the twelfth strike reverberated through the house and silence began again to descend, he heard skittering down the hall.

“What in blazes,” he muttered as he unfolded from his seat and advanced upon the passage. He was tempted to bellow, “AHA,” as he rounded the corner, but restrained himself.  After all, he was unaccustomed to raising his voice. Probably because there was typically no reason to raise it and no one with whom to raise it to since Adele had left him 36 years ago. She wanted kids but he didn’t. Truth be told, it was a decision he’d come to regret in his twilight years.

The tail of a shadow slipped into the kitchen as he watched.

Grabbing the yardstick that had hung on his hallway wall since his retirement from Green Valley High. Holding it out in front of him like a jousting lance, he entered the kitchen.

The shadow he had seen had coalesced into a six-foot-tall rabbit holding a carrot, poached, he could only assume, from his very own fridge.

“Freeze,” Bernard shouted. If ever there was a time to raise one’s voice, it was when a strange, oversized rabbit made an appearance in one’s home.

The rabbit, eyes wide, dropped the carrot and began running in a mad pattern back and forth across the kitchen floor before finally dropping to the floor and rolling beneath the table. And there he stayed, unmoving, eyes open yet vacant.

“Heart attack,” thought Bernard. He had scared the intruder to death. “Oh my,” was all he could summon in response. Should he call the police? What a strange situation.

It was then that Bernard saw a large basket filled with colorful eggs and candies, perched on the counter near where he had first spotted the rabbit.

Absentmindedly he picked up the carrot and began nibbling on it. He wrinkled his nose as he puzzled through the evidence. He tapped his leg as the mist of confusion began to clear. He knew what he needed to do.

Bernard could practically feel his whiskers growing as he lifted the basket and made for the door. He had a lot of ground to cover before morning.

Superhighway

Beads of moisture travel

tiny vehicles on a superhighway

lanes marked by veins.

Drops collide

falling from a leaf tip to

rivulet

racing to the river.

winter's shore

gray blurs the horizon, sky and water merged

distance is deceiving

wind drives the point home

Inside the Light

Nora decomposes quietly in her bed. She’s a bother to no one. She isn’t actually dead. Yet. But after a series of strokes the living have mostly stopped paying her any mind.

She lies trapped in her useless body, inert as a turnip beneath a starchy blanket, the only activity occurring behind her eyes.

Nora misses nothing and everything at once.

She watches the light sliced into slits by the institutional blinds travel across the wall.

When it’s barely past the window ledge someone will come in with a tube of liquid food and plug it to her belly. She misses the taste of food. Even her mother’s burned bacon or liver and onions would be a welcome change from the flavor of old pennies and stale breath.

A slice of light touching the faded floral print in the ornate plastic frame means two of the ever-changing cast of CNAs will enter the scene to rotate her in an attempt to limit the bloom of bedsores bedecking her backside. They handle her like a cut of cheap beef and titter over her withered ass as though Nora no longer comprehends human communication. But she does.

When the fading light reaches her inert hands it’s time for the library lady to arrive. She brings with her a lurid novel and an earnest voice and transports Nora to a different place and time. Her favorites are the speculative fiction stories. Anything can happen and beings with all manner of bodies live full lives.

As the day’s rays fade, corporeal sustenance is once again plugged in and dripped, enough to get her to morning.

The building settles, hallways become quiet, and Nora thinks about the library lady and today’s story. A sleeping princess wakened by a tender kiss, lifted to her feet and waltzed around, dizzy with joy, filled with life.

Tears leak from Nora’s eyes. She closes them and shuts out the world.

******

They lay together, his hand resting on her chest. He rumbles something sweet into her ear and she turns to him. The leaves filter late day sun, dappling all round with mystery and magic.

“Nora,” he whispers, his breath tickling her neck.

How she’d missed this. How she’d missed him. How long had it been since they’d been together? Too long to calculate and she didn’t care to spend this time focused on figuring such mundane sums. 

He is here now. That’s all that matters.

He stands and lifts her, his hands on hers, strong and insistent yet gentle. There are no worries while she is in his arms and she willingly dances with him to languorous rhythm not so much heard as felt. The blanket, picnic and space they had occupied recedes. Soon they are in a field and dusk drops. Fireflies light between the flowers. There are flowers everywhere and the smell is intoxicating. Petals brush her skin and she continues to dance throughout the night, confident with the arms of her love.

*****

Hands leave Nora's discarded shell. Signals are silenced and cables are wound and tucked into machines now pushed to corners. Blankets are left jumbled, some trailing to the cold floor.

Morning light touches the window ledge.