Garold

A cat-shaped shadow on the warm, sunlight floor beneath an east window – yawns. She tolerates an expensive, difficult to swallow pill. The implicit, asymetrical reward is Ms. Ginger's favorite food – and for both of us some time on my lap in the cool, shadowless glow of the TV, rubbing behind her ears. After that, a nap wherever she wants. Then a trip to the box – priceless. We find such simple joy in each day, because tomorrow is promised to none of us.

Steve

"His wife just asked me how much longer?" I hear myself reply, "Yes, how much longer?" The surgeon answers, "Please don't talk, sir." A silicone buckle is placed over my eyeball.  I feel the miniature muscles being manipulated.  I drift off again. When I wake, a laser is singeing my retina.  Where is that damn anesthesiologist?  I don't hear his voice.  "He's in a lot of pain," the surgeon says.  You think?

Ashmun

At Sixty-Two i have had a good winter
only fallen once on ice. Old strong shoulder recalled my younger bruise that only took a night to languish. Both hands wrapped the wheel sliding on icy skates my trailer met me, next to me surprised my brakes i was too close to say hello. But a lucky muddy ditch nabbed me up short with the same brisk breath i almost felt today. Ashmun....

Terry

Christmas tree? It was promised today just like last week. We walk home, he smiles and walks to the supermarket where firs, pines and spruces line up to be picked. I smile. “It’s time to buy food for dinner,” he says. He promised a tree but buys me a chicken? What? This morning I confided in him that I’m losing my looks, his response, “you’re a nice person.” That’s it! I’m decorating our chicken with lights.

Karen

The Buffalo Evening News, Friday, April 14, 1972.  That's the date of the newspaper my mother used to wrap the heirloom dishes in.  I unpacked them on Wednesday, December 23, 2009. One by one, just like my mom wrapped them; thinking, all the while of her wrapping these dishes, and carefully placing them in a box.  She gave me the dishes in 1976; thus began over thirty-three years of untouched storage.

When she packed the dishes, Edie Adams and Natalie Wood were divorcing their husbands; the "war" in Vietnam was raging; Nixon was in the White House; chicken was 29 cents a pound; pork was 89 cents a pound and my mom and dad were newly divorced.  Mom was moving on.  She sold the house.  I was away at college.  At the time I felt I was escaping this dark period by being away at school.  My escapism must certainly have added to her personal grief.  Neither of us really had a heart to heart about all this.   We just didn’t know how.

My mom pulled everything together and moved on... all by herself.  What a tragic period this must have been in her life; more tragic that no one was there to help, not even me.  

As I unpacked the dishes, I could picture mom silently suffering through a very tough period.  She always hid her pain.  She exuded confidence and rarely asked for help.  She was always there, and I took her for granted.  I can picture her smoking her Winston or Pall Mall Gold cigarette and drinking a cup of coffee - personal confidants during this emotional time.  She never asked me to help her move, and I never offered to help her.  The divorce was such a painful thing.  Mom had to move on.  I can't imagine how she did it.

I'm happy she packed these dishes for me and I'm happy to have had the opportunity to unpack each and every dish and think of my mom.  Just a brief snippet of her long and productive life…I love you, Mom.

Jon

Desperately seeking frabjous hook to wow Lou (and Kurt). Alas, my efforts are hollow: not pithy, just terse. Not taut, just tight. Biz and Evan would luxuriate in the vastness of 420 characters, but it makes me claustrophobic. The unforgiving brick wall looms, terrorizingly imminent. Perhaps I’m just too focused – Lou said keep those restrictions out of mind when I write. Perhaps I should be three tweets to the wind.

Steven

My cell phone just got ripped out of my hand by a subway hooligan, so I ran off the platform, found a phone booth, and called my wife to say why I’d be a bit late for dinner. “Why did you call me? Just come home,” she said tersely. “But I have to file a police report.” “Don’t waste your time, I paid that guy to rip you off because all you do is talk into that little black rectangle. I want YOU to talk to ME!”

Jessie

“What have you heard?” George Clooney asks. He’s stalling. While our son recounts playground gossip I contemplate the ethics of the situation. George says “Santa lives in the hearts and minds of all men. Understand?” The boy shakes his head and turns to me. I don’t want to lie, but it feels hypocritical to dash the hopes of my fantasy child, so I tell him that Santa is as real as he is, and he’s satisfied for now.

Mark (Hartman)

I slipped under the crystal curtain; the outside world vanished. All that mattered was the amber glow of the setting sun. I willed myself towards the light. Long forgotten were tomorrow’s deadlines. Then, suddenly as if by a kiss of liquid sunshine, I was free of the ocean’s saline embrace; free to face tomorrow’s deadlines, or not. I paddled back out for 1 more, or maybe 2 or 3. Tomorrow can wait. A Surfer’s Dream.

Elizabeth

Christmas is two weeks away but no snow; a confused climate. The tree-destroying blizzard surprised October leaving downed limbs and lines and no power for expected comforts. We slept in front of the never lit fireplace burning borrowed wood and wearing two coats. In the dark our flashlights illuminated no-service cell phones. Now wreaths are hung and candles glimmer in windows. The forsythia is fooled like we were.

Brendan

Azusayumi
overlord of Sapporo.
In their dungeons I met
his bastard daughter--
ginger haired
with pale skinned
boyish features.
Bangs piercing
her rust colored
war face.

She taught me her language.
Told me stories of her nomads.

Her sister once came
across a lesser sun god
bathing in a stream.

She was turned into a lion.
Made to leave the tribe.
Her tears turned the fields
salty and dry.

They found her floating body
south of highland pass.
Crystallized for eternity,
we buried her there--
beneath the Jubokko tree.

Martin

“Damn”, he thought, gazing emptily. The low winter light played long shadows as he contemplated the e-mail and his failing mother.

He walked on.

Just the night before, he had played Saint Nicholas for the children of an Orthodox parish. For a few moments, he had felt like one whose prayers were heard by God Himself.

He took a long, uneven breath. The smell of the holy incense still lay on his coat.

He stopped, and wept.

Peter

Pinky. Ring. Middle. Pointer. The silver coin rolled over knuckles with a fluid motion.
He had let the boy hold the heavy metal coin for a moment before it started.Was it the glint of light or just the speed of the old hand that drew him? “Wow, how’d you..?”
Pinky. Ring. Middle. Pointer. And back. Middle. Ring. Pinky. Ring. Middle. Pointer. The boy’s head moved as he watched. The man answered, “Huh, yeah, I know.”

RO

NEARER AND NEARER CAME AN UNBEARABLE ROAR. WAS IT THUNDER? WRONG TIMBRE! WAS IT A GARBAGE TRUCK? WRONG TIME:2:30 AM!. OMG! IT‘S AN ALIEN LAB-SHIP. I’LL BE SUCKED UP THROUGH THE ROOF AND MEDICALLY EXAMINED BY BIGHEADED 4’ CREATURES IN SURGICAL MASKS. GET HOLD OF YOURSELF! SUDDENLY THE NOISE BANKS DOWNWARD INTO VIEW. I SPOT THE MARKINGS OF THE LOCAL POLICE CHOPPER PROBABLY CHASING SOMEONE. MYSTERY SOLVED!

Mark

Sprawled in a rhododendron, wearing only my boxers, which weren't really all that clean, my middle-aged paunch completing the unfortunate picture, looking up at the horrified face of my pretty young neighbor, whose name I'd never learned, and now, of course, never would, I thought to myself: "How could I have forgotten I live on the first floor?" Most pathetic suicide attempt ever.

Nina

She froze midstride as her ears caught a faint rustle ahead, then lowered into a crouch, muscles quivering. Sharp eyes spied a flash of movement and instinct took over. She sprang, vaulting through dense forest, anticipating the flesh of her next meal - but another sound caught her attention and she slowed, her quarry ran to safety.
"BAD DOG! You get back here!" she was scolded and shamed in defeat.

Kevin

Looking at the strange tall waving green “trees,” Joe kept trying to find his way back to civilization. Suddenly, a giant black monster with sharp fangs faced him. Grabbing a large branch, he swung wildly at his enemy. Growling viciously, the monster seemed persistent. The monster couldn’t bite him. The outsider revealed that it was a miniaturized human on a front lawn, facing an ant while holding a toothpick.

Steven

I drove to the mall in search of a gift for her. Thirty, then sixty minutes went by and I’d found nothing. As I lamented that there was nothing here, it laughingly dawned on me that, here in the largest mall in America, I stood complaining of inventory. With that, my fears dissipated: the fear that I’d buy the wrong gift or that any gift could be the measure our marriage.

All in all, it was a lovely celebration.

Catherine

A wet pillow, not from tears, but from toweled dry hair. It’s nap time after a busy morning. Chemo pulses in my feet and hands, but I’m alive. I’ll awaken an hour or two from now, busy myself with dinner for the family and then surround myself again with the covers. A mother’s love never dies nor her faith in tomorrow's promise.

Laurel

Rental; animal lover; 215-6898. I walked to the front door, wondering if I was expected to provide a cat. A pony across the creek neighed before going back to his meal. I laughed and couldn’t stop. “You’ll do,” the woman said. That night I stood in the middle of the kitchen, savoring the silence. Only, it wasn’t; my new neighbor was snorting. In spite of the evening’s chill, I threw open the door and invited him in.