Why Would She Leave?

When Mother abandoned our family, I was ten and I was bereft. Why would she leave? Dad said Mother didn’t love me, like he did. But, Dad’s love was accompanied by belittlement and backhanded smacks. When Dad died in that crash, six years later, relief mixed with my self-pity.

I reunited with my boy at the funeral. He stood dumbfounded while I rushed to describe not feeling safe, fearing he’d turn “nasty” (like Rick), watching from afar, and all my regrets. I left when he started to look like Rick. I returned only when convinced he wasn’t becoming his father.

From Guest Contributor Bob Gielow

All The Time In The World

“Paul, Emily here.” Pleasant and composed as always. “I need a power of attorney for my mom, Agnes.”

“Sure. Why the POA?”

“Mom has terminal cancer. Not yet but very soon she’ll need heavy morphine. I’ll handle her affairs.”

We meet at Hospice. Agnes is sitting up, hair brushed, gracious, as pleasant and composed as Emily. She signs the POA, we find witnesses. We chat, then: “Thanks, Paul, so very much. Goodbye!” All without any misgivings, remorse, self-pity. As I leave, mother and daughter carry on, chatting amiably. They make the most of it.

All the time in the world.

From Guest Contributor Tony Covatta

Flying Dancers

She dances with the leaves on this late autumn night. They rise, fall, crackle, swoop back into the air, without reflection about their falls. No signs of injury. No self-pity.

She envies the leaves. They can fly from words.

Too artistic, dark, can’t you be happy? Go to this party. Go to that party with your father. Stand straight, watch your gait. Smile. Writing’s a waste of time.

The words float in her mind like sickly alphabet cereal. But another curtain of leaves showers her. She twirls, the leaves dancing with her, sky and street opening wider than ever before.

From Guest Contributor Yash Seyedbagheri

Yash is a graduate of Colorado State University's MFA program in fiction. His work is forthcoming or has been published in WestWard Quarterly, Café Lit, and Ariel Chart, among others.

Underground

Gwen spotted us together in the subway. We were standing talking, and she walked up to us. She looked at me awkwardly fidgeting with her ring, while I stammered an apology. An apology for what; we just met by accident. Nothing happened, I promise.

“You two sure look like a cute couple,” she said, her voice full of self-pity.

Why won’t she listen?

“Busted,” you laughed; big joke.

“It’s not like that, we’re not back together,” I said, not after what you put me through last time.

No one believed me, not even myself; but it’s still not my fault.

From Guest Contributor David Rae