Death Bed Wish

Yep, it’s Wednesday-Friday again. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields we have a beautiful picture (provided by Roger Bultot) to stir our imaginations.

Photo by Roger Bultot

I’d like to live the remainder of my life in the rose glow of candlelight.
Somewhere within the shadows bordering darkness and expectation
where the world is neither full of wild desire nor deep disappointment.

There, my children would softly hum accompanied by a choir of crickets
and the thrum of one-hundred bullfrogs.
And fireflies would spark in the midnight air.

Instead, I’m trapped in the bright neon glow of fluorescent bulbs,
held in place by blue plastic tubes twisting like snakes around me,
listening to the thump-thumb of an oxygen pump
while my children softly cry.

An Old Man’s Memories

This week, Pegman transported us to Peleliu, a WW II battlefield. Thanks for an inspiring place to write! I’ve never heard of this island or its history. Ah, so much to learn, so little time. (P.S. “Urasai” means “Shut Up”)

 

“I don’t know who these kids think they are! Trash on the altar!”
“Kozue, they mean no harm.”
“Hush! You know nothing! They come, laugh at the statues, fornicate on the steps, play loud music and dance! They show no respect for those who died here.”
Realizing his wife will drone on for a very long time, Hideshi allows her words to fade to the far recesses of his mind even as unwelcome memories float before his eyes: Blood Tears Broken limbs Missing limbs. And into his ears: Screams Threats Commands Gunfire Gunfire Gunfire rat-a-tat-tat. Over and over and over. And the smell of death: Festering wounds Urine Excrement Blood.
Ah, to have memories of this ungodly battlefield replaced by thoughts of beautiful young girls making love with curious boys, the smell of perfume, the scent of too much aftershave, the glorious sound of laughter, music, and sighs . . .
“Kozue! Urusai!”