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.

Another Gun Shot, Another Death

“I gonna go to college and become a writer.” Hands on hips, Sicily cocked her chin and struck a pose. “My pitcher will look spectacular on the back of all my books.”

“College.” Jamar snorted through his nose and cuffed his sister’s arm. “Not me, no way. I gonna be a mechanic and fix rich folks cars. That’s what I gonna do. Be richer ‘en Methuselah, sure enough.”

“Both of youse is dumb as dirt. Ain’t gonna’ happen,” Felicia said. “Ya’ll should do like me. Be a hairdresser to movie stars. All them actors, black or white, wants pretty cornrows and beads braided in their hairs. I’ll be the rich one in this family.”

Inside, listening to her children and watching the hearse move slowly down the street, Celia put a hand to heart. “No sir,” she whispered. “Don’t care what my babies do long as they gots plans.”

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