The house is quiet. Reaching across the table, I turn on a table lamp. I watch as the circle of light turns AMBER as, first twilight, and then darkness begin to fall. A basket of STALE bread sits before me. The dregs of CHEAP red wine sit drying in a glass. Books, papers cover surfaces. There is a general sense of disarray about the space. I glance over at the door, my coat and bag slump against the wall. How long have I been sitting here? What time did I leave work? Was it yesterday? Today? My faltering sense of time, of reality — I feel lost, adrift. The smell of DECAY wafts in on a breeze. The smell stirs memories – ones that I know are recent, yet feel very far away. I close my eyes, and the images start to come back. I can hear the screams, the phone call to 911, noises of panic and chaos. I force myself to push them away. My mind demands that I sleep here — now, in this chair — for as long as it takes in the vain hope that when I awake it will not be true.

Georg’ann

Seeking to feel RIGHT,
wishing to balance the SCALE.
Each day called to perform
as if I were a magician
in a fancy CAPED costume.
Creating, sustaining illusion.
It’s hard work this magic making.
Effort destined to go unnoticed.
Like how a bulb becomes a bloom.
Our eyes drawn to its bright display
emerging
through the carpet of leaf DECAY.

Heather