Rebirth

Photo: David Slotto

Rebirth

The Scene
Wet grass beneath my body,
piles of leaves gathered nearby,
scents of mold and dried lavender,
apples hanging heavy the tree,
spirits peering through rusty leaves
divining secrets from my past
and present, cradled deep within.

The Character
My stories are mine—
clues hidden beneath the layers
of a serene façade,
exiled from those
who would know my truth.

The Plot
I claw at the bark of the ash tree,
pain racking my used-up body,
then swallow the last three pills.
No rash decision, this.

The End
I chose early autumn last November—
autumn as the season
of dying, of beauty, of letting go,
like seeds entombed in dank soil
waiting to be born again.

This is fictional. I personally do not believe in euthanasia, though I cannot judge other. One point I want to make is that hospice care, focused on symptom management, is an option for pain management. If anyone has questions about hospice, I will be happy to answer them if I can. Just leave them in comments or send me an e-mail.

I wrote this using the words offered by Brenda a The Sunday Whirl and am linking it to dVerse Open Link Night which opens Tuesday, 3:00 PM, EDT. Please join us at either or both of these poetry venues.

By the way, I accidentally posted my draft for this week’s Meeting the Bar. It will be re-posted on Thursday. Sorry about that, but if you received it in e-mail, consider it a heads-up.

Silence–Flash Fiction

death bed (Photo credit: Damian Bere)

Today, while working my poetry comments I happened upon a site that offers Five Sentence Flash Fiction Prompts using a one-word prompt. As I’ve been so consumed in the world of poetry and the business side of publishing my novels, my fiction writing has taken a back seat to poetry. And so, I thought I’d hop on in and take a few moments to participate in this challenge. This week’s word prompt offered by hostess, Lilie McFerrin, is Silence. Here’s mine:

Silence

For weeks after she died, oppressive silence filled her room, creeping like fog into every aspect of my life. I didn’t miss the curses or abuse she handed out, day-after-day, year-after-year. Nor did I mind the aloneness of it all. Even the hospice nurse, when she visited to reclaim left-over supplies and medications, said nothing when she saw the empty morphine bottle. But in my mind, silence screams its verdict: “Guilty; guilty as charged.”

I’d like to invite you to check out my blog and website for information on my Novel, Winter is Past, published by Lucky Bat Books and available in print form on Amazon.com and CreateSpace.com, as well as in most e-book formats.

If you’re here to visit my poem for dVerse Poetics, it’s the previous post.