[Fiction] Old Friend

First, I want to thank all the writers and artists who joined in on yesterday’s National Poetry Day party. It was great to catch up with old friends and meet some new faces! Now back to your regularly scheduled writing…


Donna wrapped up her old teddy bear, the mink with the missing eye, and a scruffy lion in a few scraps of cloth to be put into the box to Goodwill. She hadn’t seen her childhood toys since she left them behind in her mother’s house. She had names for all of them once, but try as she might she couldn’t remember any of them until she came upon Pepper, the wolf. His hair had been washed out of his gray dye when she had given him a bubble bath, was it? Yes, 40 some odd years ago.

“You’re looking your age now,” Donna said fondly, touching his nose. She pulled a stray white curl away from her own face and smiled. “And so am I.”

He was the only thing she took for herself from that house, safely tucked under her arm.


In Memory

Old Camera

Postage-sized photographs
Litter the attic landing
In windfall, like leaves from
Autumns past.

My grandmother must have
Lingered fingers reverently
On ghost-pale faces —
Dear aunts and uncles.

In recollection of a memory
I cherish strangers;
One day, she shall enshrine
The memory of my daughter of me.


O’er the hill he rides his steed
To memory’s eternity
Years past the deed
The children still whisper of his face
The lance, the chariot, the fearsome mace
The mysterious knight
Against the fading light
The dragons slayed
And the grateful maids
Send shivers of pleasure when again told
Those bygone chivalric tales of old
Yet sunset spells a specious cast
It was her, not his name, that should last.


How charming is
The posy in your pocket
The curl of auburn
Nestled in your locket
Your smiles at
Yellow daises and daffodils
By the meadow’s little rill
Which will run a hundred days
As long as your laughter plays
And promises
You’ll stay.

Graceful Exits

In my mind I hold the many children
That were friends and foes.
Like Peter, never-changing
They remain.
The vestigial shadows of last year’s flowers —
If I were to find them today:
Only the smell of damp earth.


A quick word or a moment’s hesitation
On that rare sought visitation
Of past deeds and minor wrongs enacted
Through Time’s mirror so refracted
The gruesome monster and saint, both faces
Dwelling again in recalled joys and distastes
Yoked by the burden of a conscious being
Who sees beyond the mere seeing