REFLECTION by Rebecca Meredith |
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SPACE
by Nina Sokol Instead of looking through a glass, she thinks she sees a mirror, a mere reflection of herself, nothing nor else. A perfect rendition of her very lips, her eyes, hair, her skin, the clothes that on this day hang from her limbs, happy repetitions of her youthful physicalness, her eternal presence. Then, instead of seeing a mirror, she looks into a glass when her eyes have grown old and her skin wrinkled, her limbs dangling like dried fruit from her bones, she will see the repetition only differently as seen from some other woman’s eyes, perhaps, in another mirror, a great-great grandmother, maybe, peering into her. |
INSIDE LOOKING OUT by Brenda Yamen |
| NIGHT TRAVELS
by Doug Bolling I watched you watch the moon that Saturday night. I watched you unpack your thoughts into a soft tissue as moon slid off into the scrim of dawn. When you told your life story in the bistro I cried. You the patient sufferer. You the pilgrim on the run. We should run away you said. We should build a sailboat and fly out beyond the last buoy into the great swell and suck of ocean. I knew I was in love. We had happened together by the spin of the great ball of chance. When they kicked us out of the all night place we headed for the wharf. We stepped into & out of our clothes. We grew fins by which to escape into foreverland like in the movies. Land became a somewhere far behind, too far to reach back and touch. 0ur words became the crests and waves, gentle ones, big ones with open mouths. Moon drifting downward into the sea its mother, its mother. |
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