Non-Fiction

I long for that boring state of alignment that I can rely on sharing with those around me…

I used to teach.

I will always be a ‘daughter of’, though Mom and Dad are now gone. I will always be a wife and mother. I write too.

Count backwards from 100. I reach 97, then I’m gone. Off to dreamland, where sometimes dreams become nightmares that become reality.

When I was a little kid, my mom would sit on my bed and play with my hair or tickle my back as she tucked me in at night.

She was already talking about me before I was born. She made the decision that I would be named Jacqueline. She would peek through the bars of my crib and blow me goodnight kisses.

“Am I dying, Mir?” he asks me, as we lie together in the narrow hospital bed, holding hands in the darkness. I sit up and turn to him. “Yes,” I say simply, “You are, Bri.”

The gully behind my aunt and uncle’s new house intrigued me. It was deep and wild, and resembled a small canyon, with lots of wooded areas for city children…

Thank God things are quiet. I guess it’s medication time everywhere in the hospital, the same way it can be Christmas everywhere in the world.