Her little nose makes this sound,
Not a mew, but a wee little snore.
She curls against my leg,
Her fur warms my hip
As she dreams away.
She’s my little shadow
And sometimes she takes the lead,
Especially when she wants
water from the tap
Or a little fresh air
from an open window.
But tonight she is content,
licking the air as she sleeps,
off in her kitty dreamland.
At least it held off until I was safely parked.
On a call, early morning, less than 4 hours of sleep that night,
Still recovering from a weekend of 40 plus hours of work,
Needing to stay awake, a nutri-grain bar and ice cold water,
I thought it would do the trick, and I was wrong.
Sleep, Sleep, It’s what I need.
Slurring my words, dizziness, and nausea,
all three setting in. Then my eyes filled with tears.
So damn exhausted. “Are you okay?” I hear.
I utter out no, resting my head against the wheel.
The insignia on my car horn blurred.
Sleep, Sleep, It’s what I need.
I knew I was in trouble, but it wasn’t over yet.
“Do you need us to call 911?” “No, I need sleep.”
Helped by two managers, I stumbled through the door,
we found our way to a quiet room.
Still confused, tired and nauseous,
I was too sick to be embarrassed any more.
Sleep, sleep, it’s what I need.
My husband arrived to drive me home.
The drive back was no easier,
waves of sickness between mini naps.
My eyes bruised from the nausea,
my face swollen too. Heavy eyelids,
Sleep, sleep, it’s what I need.
I was lucky; I made it safely to a place where people could help. I forget I’m no longer young, and not able to bounce back like I did when I was in my twenties. This was a lesson for me, a scare for my family, and I hope it reaches someone who may need to hear it. Please, learn from me, don’t drive when you’re tired.
He was 72, with so much more life to live.
Five foot – ten, and never over 176.
Healthy except for a bad back and leg.
Loved to swim, but soreness overcame.
He smoked, and when the pain was bad,
he smoked more than a pack a day.
He wasn’t here to walk me down the aisle;
He missed so much that day and more,
A massive coronary took him from us,
Suddenly and without warning.
Now I am sad when I hear of loved ones
Who still smoke. I want to take them
By their arms, shake them, let them see
The tears in my eyes when I plead.
I don’t want to lose you. Please don’t smoke.
Twenty eight hours, with just an hour of real rest. No, this isn’t right.
Bed, now.
Swinging wide, stumbling through wal-world to pick up some essentials.
Never felt this tired. So exhausted , I can’t sleep.
Safely in a room, freezing cold.
Taking a little time to unwind.
Hoping slumber finds me soon.
And maybe a few sweet dreams too.
Just to start again early tomorrow.
Woosh…woosh…the rotating door goes round.
We’d play with the door to the darkroom,
Around and around. I remember.
Feeding the film onto the reel,
Click, clack, click, in total darkness,
Fumbling for the canister and the lid
Sealing it tight to develop negatives.
You helped me learn. I remember.
Running the water bath, pulling out the trays,
Pouring the chemicals, developer and stop,
Working in the red light. I remember.
Focusing, exposing, developing.
Long talks, close friendship,
Sharing our troubles and dreams,
You taught me so much. I remember.
Sometimes I wonder, do you?
Drooping eyes, bloodshot and heavy-lidded,
Dark circles frame my brown beauties.
Shoulders tight, each muscle clinched,
Feeling the blood pump through my arms.
Sore neck and back, hip and leg out of place.
All of this from stress I put on myself.
Laying awake, telling myself not to worry,
but my mind fights me night after night.
Did I catch all the details? Do I have it right?
It’s reaching the peak and can’t come soon enough.
Once it is done, a brief relief, but more work will begin,
Starting back up, more late nights and long days.
Perfectionists are far from perfect, this I know.
But it doesn’t stop my stress or my mind.
Can we please win the lottery now?
Her wings were weak from not using them for so long. As she stretched them open, she could feel the tendons and ligaments moving in unfamiliar ways.
I need to fly again. I need to go somewhere new. She pondered to herself in the moonlight.
She flapped her wings and caught some air under them, lifting into the night sky. Flying was harder than she remembered as she moved her wings to catch more air. Finally she found a current and floated along the lake shore. She closed her eyes just a moment, feeling joy for once in ages. A smile spread across her face.
Suddenly, the wind stilled, and she began to lose altitude. Her instincts on how to land however did not kick in quite in time. She found herself sliding into grass and dirt, twisting. Her body slid between two rocks and her foot became entwined in some tangle roots between them, stopping her forward slide. She felt the pull of the roots up her leg as she rolled over to a seated position, folding in her wings.
Slowly she freed her foot from the tangle, then tried to stand up. Her ankle gave way and she leaned against the boulder she just missed hitting her head on to prevent herself from falling. Her ankle crackled and popped as she rotated it. It didn’t feel broken, just twisted.
Gently, she set her foot back down and tested it. It would hold until she could get back to the sanctum. Slowly she limped away from the lake, knowing she needed to tend to it. In the near distance, she could see the willow huts her people called home. Getting home was slow, but she made it.
She arrived at her hut, a small dome-shaped nestle among the larger family homes. The willow branches were woven into a basket pattern and packed to keep out the rains and mist. A small heart shaped window adorned the front of the home aside the entrance; her people found it good fortune to introduce shapes representing your desires. The other side displayed an archers bow and arrow. It was a reminder for her that when life pulls you back, it can launch you further forward than you ever dreamed.
Tonight she smirked at herself, unsure if a twisted ankle was just a foolish thing or one of those moments. She wished for the latter as she stumbled inside. She lit a candle to bring light into her home. The decor was sparse, but meaningful. Her grandmother’s handmade piece quilt lay across her thatch bed. A small wooden table for two made by her Da’ sat near her makeshift kitchen. There wasn’t a need for much when just one lives in a place like this.
She made her way to the small bath. Her people understood how to plumb their homes with running water. She found a swath of material and wrapped her twisted ankle to provide it support, then made her way to the bed to elevate it. She blew out the candle and laid there, wondering about the ridge, wondering what lay beyond. As her eyes grew heavy, she gave in to slumber and dreams.
As I sit here in the apparent Petri dish of the land, Florida, I find I am growing numb feeling for people who come down with severe cases of COVID who choose not to be vaccinated.
I feel for those who cannot get vaccinated due to being under 12 or have legitimate health issues. I feel for those who have breakthrough infections who have been immunized. Let me make that clear. But I no longer feel sorry for anyone who refused to get the vaccine at this point. I don’t want you to die, I simply no longer feel for you.
I will still wear a mask, because I care enough to not want others to get sick, but I am only having to do this because your D-A didn’t do your part…. So understand me as I glare at you with daggers coming out of my eyes and take a wide berth walking around your sorry A. I would like to be able to go mask free again sometime this year…get it done!
The full moon cast its light over the ground below. A canopy of trees hung overhead. The winged creature stood in a large stream of light which hit the forest floor. She stood tall, raven hair, dark winged, pale skinned. Her wings were the color of midnight, reflecting highlights of violet and navy. The creature had human features, arms, legs and a soft feminine face. Some might mistake her for an angel, but in this world, there exists no such beings.
She haled from a small clan of forest folk knowledgeable in war and peace, in science and magic. There were not many of her kind left, so they often struck out from their sanctum in search of others suitable to share life. Cross breeding was never a concern, so long as they were able to hold the light of their partner’s eyes. However, tonight’s outing was not to find a mate.
She enjoyed her evenings meandering through the forest and communing with nature. This night under a full moon was ideal for observing her favorite nocturnal fowls and beasts. She moved through the trees steadily, missing the twigs and branches scattered on the floor, almost as if she floated through the forest. Her empire waist dress fluttered in the breeze, its translucent dark lace complementing her wings.
The forest floor became covered with a light mist as she approached the lake. A fallen trunk made the perfect seat for her to sit absorb the night air. In the distance, a doe wandered up to graze and sip from the lake. She watched her intently and smiled when a larger buck stepped up beside the doe. The mated pair nuzzled a moment, then retreated back into the forest.
The moon reflected in her dark eyes. From above, an owl hooted and then took flight over her head and across the lake. Its shadow appeared in the ripples in the water. She watched it disappear over a distant ridge. She longed to follow it off to the distant lands on the far side, to explore a new world. She stood up and stretched her wings. It had been years since she last took flight.
Standing steadfast,
ankles chained to the ocean floor.
Unwavering against the crashing waves,
barely surviving.
But the water rises with the tide,
the waves continue to grow.
Her strength begins to falter
and her will and legs give way.
Struggling for air with the height of each wave,
until they inundate her with
only moments between to catch her breath.
Unable to release the bonds,
unable to rise above the waves.
Overwhelmed,
An ice cold tear escapes
and rolls down her face
as the ocean swallows her
drowning her in the undertow.
Dawn Renee Writes 