Swan

Why such sorrow for the swan on the water? Why is it her head is hung with such woe? The moonlight lines her with silver as she glides ripples atop the placid pond. And there are banks of passionflowers that glint their crimsons through the night. Had I been that swan, never would you see my nape so weak and crestfallen, so inwardly curved like tendrils at winter’s start. Because there are other swans on the pond with dispositions just the same. And if I swam my sadness to theirs, perhaps our troubles would combine like violin strings and bows.

From Guest Contributor Man O'Neal

Educated

At a student’s desk, she wept. A cheerful message written earlier on the whiteboard: “How are you, Miss Jimenez?” in English and Spanish.

“You can press charges, but I wouldn’t advise it,” one assistant principal said. “He is getting suspended for one day. Any bruises?”

Jimenez hung her head. “No, sir.”

“I’d advise taking a personal day, but it’s so hard getting a sub. Besides, you don’t want to look weak,” the other assistant principal said. The radio squawked - an emergency in the bus lane. The AP’s rushed down the hall on the only day Jimenez left at 4:30.

From Guest Contributor Embe Charpentier

The Vigil

Even to this day I curse, swear and kick myself for having dozed off that painful night. Though I kept vigil all through her illness, the feeling of guilt has never subsided.

She was my strength.

I knew the meaning of the cloudy eyes and immobility. After three consecutive nights, the strain on my eyes was too much and I slipped. It was at such a weak moment she chose to give up her fight...that hurt me.

My being awake at her last moments would mean nothing, but I feel guilty for expecting the death of my loving pet.

From Guest Contributor Thriveni C. Mysore.