Old woman sits on rocking chair like a queen on her throne gathering robes around her in royal pose with a shaft of sunlight entering window in godly favor. White hair as silver-lined clouds drifts around her face while she rocks back and forth… Continue Reading “At Home by Diane Webster”
Gray-whiskered man lies on the ground; his arm pillows his head like mother’s hand when she held his babyhood. Eyes closed in sleep memory; a smile softens his face as he listens to his radio – music of static blankets his soul beyond crowds.
Old man stands ankle-deep in pasture grass dry in August. He contemplates the ground as if looking for something lost – Pocket knife? Metal car? Toy gun? Like an escaped prisoner a cricket scurries through brittle stems uncaring of silence just fleeing. Old man… Continue Reading “Of Himself by Diane Webster”
The boom car stomps its music up and down the street while inside houses dishes clatter a rattlesnake warning, and cranked-up bass bounces sound waves off T-shirts and blouses of residents watching the car pass a parade full of mad, marching bands.