Lt. Det. James P. Fischer looked over the PRINT out of his personal log. He found it useful to read it over at the beginning of the day, and being a man of a certain age, while he wrote on his computer, he did prefer paper when it came to reading. He was deep in thought, contemplating what he had written about his last case, when there was a knock at the door. He grunted. Taking that as a “come in!”, Det. Sarah Rose stuck her head in. “Boss, there’s been a break in over in the TRADE district near Chinatown. A STORE was broken into and the clerk on duty got beat up pretty bad. The team is en ROUTE to check it out.” He nodded his assent. The door closed quietly and he returned to his thoughts. “Wait a minute- was this connected to -” he shook his head. Surely some petty robbers didn’t have anything to do with Black Market syndicate they were trying to break. He sighed. This is what came
of having been on medical leave. His brain was slow and they were coddling him. Reaching for his cane, he heaved himself out of the chair. He better get some more information.

Georg’ann

Staring into the closet, naked.
Hands moving hangers this way
then back that way, bounty
of prints, textures, weights.
As they pass, glimpses of
acquisitions, scenes.
Portals, everywhere portals.
This olive LINEN dress, simple
yet too sheer,
and now ripped under the arm. CHEAP, yet filled with riches.
It holds friends laughing in that Croatian STORE,
my husband insisting, me shy
then elegant with artsy gold earrings, hair swooped up.
Eating some kind of TORTE in the nook
by the windows, playful ease.
A chill brings me back, winter here.
The ROUTE ahead requires something sturdy-
cottons and wool, layers.
Standing here exposed, seeking
some substance, security,
comfort to drape the hollow shell.

Heather