I Heard A Mother Scream

I hear a mother scream. She is haunted by the ghost of all the empty tomorrows, the house that doesn't creak in the night, the silent graveyard safe from superstitious breath.

The desolation of her scream, so familiar, pierces into me. We're both tormented by the life still left to live, unable to excoriate the soul from the skin.

She seeks consolation in her refusal to accept the well meaning lies of those unable to withstand true despair.

I too have that scream inside me, its silence continuing to bounce off the walls, the pain reverberating both inside and out.

Babylon

A city thrives and a city dies, from village to metropolis to graveyard. Now, the desert rocks hide secrets of millennia past, lives long forgotten, dreams of glory faded to black.

A man and woman once lived in Babylon. They fell in love, had children, populated the city with dreams of a family empire that would never end. The man and woman grew old together, surrounded by children and grandchildren, bolstered by laughter and love.

The city endured longer than the man and woman. It endured longer than the grandchildren. But the city didn't live forever. The family still endures.

Camaraderie

Quibble believes the Paterson boy is getting a little close to his daughter. He has seen how tethered they sit when allowed to linger together on the porch. Three school dances in a row they have been each other’s primary partner. Quibble’s wife has taken to complimenting for no reason, with fanfare, the boy’s taste in clothing. The conspiracy grows. Quibble is sure, if he had a mind to intercede, he could find the couple parked in the graveyard, innocently – so far – bobbing for lumber. He likes the boy well enough. He has to find a way to warn him.

From Guest Contributor Ken Poyner

One Last Time

"Be a good boy," said my mother. "Stop playing cricket in the graveyard with you likkle hooligan friend. I don’t want to hear that you trying to see duppies by washing you face with rice water."

I didn’t want to disappoint my mother, a God-fearing woman, who left Jamaica ten Christmases ago to work as a hospice nurse in Miami, comforting the soon-to-be dead. I'd been a good boy until last week when she came home in a box. So who could blame me (and I know she would forgive me) if I tried to see her one last time.

From Guest Contributor Geoffrey Philp

Geoffrey is the author of Garvey's Ghost

Cemetery Sentiment

in this silent graveyard,no one mentioned death.the hair on my arms stood at attention,like soldiers in the cold war.temperature below freezing,any moisture turned into iceand fell onto his eyelashes.just before midnight,we grabbed a bouquet ofplasticyellowroses.he quivered from the cold,but his smile never faded.vows spilling from his lips,like a waterfall made of his soul.his nose was cold against mine,after the final words of our connection.pulling away he looked at me,a shimmer in his eyes,knowing,that forever,he will always be mine.

From Guest Contributor Neyalla Ryu

The Importance Of Listening

I went on my own because I couldn't get anyone to come with me. What had once been an orchard was now a graveyard for old tires, sprung mattresses, rusty paint cans, even broken microwaves, scattered over the slope like the indecipherable wreckage of some puzzling event. The trees, untended for years, had long since stopped producing apples and been twisted into painful shapes by time and storms and then overwhelmed by creeper vines and opportunistic birds and insects. I just stood with my head cocked to one side as if trying to catch every single word the crows said.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie co-edits the journals UnLost and Unbroken.

Graveyard Girl

During her lifetime, she had never actually been to a graveyard. The closest she came was holding her breath as the family station wagon drove by. Nor had she been to a cemetery. Nor a mausoleum, catacomb, or crypt.

But she could distinguish the difference, both etymologically and historically, between each of them. Her favorite stories were set in burial grounds, Gothic narratives dripping with death and love and tragedy.

So even though she was cremated, and her ashes spread out to sea, not many people were surprised to find her ghost haunting the church graveyard near her childhood home.