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rejectomorphSaturday was mostly consumed by the rain, its persistent pattering greyness never very strong and never entirely quiet. Eventually I slept for a while, because that's what I do these days, and then woke at four o'clock in the afternoon to fetch the mail. It had eased enough to barely wet my umbrella when I went out to the empty mailbox. The apartment was full of dusk, and a chill sadness that sent me back to my covers, where I refound oblivion for more hours than I expected. It was midnight when I woke again. I got up and, once my brain had found its way back to the present moment, fixed my belated dinner. Now the night has grown silent, the rain having ended at last, and I'm sitting in the chill, lethargic and dumbfounded and sad for no identifiable reason, just waiting to get sleepy enough to escape the world again. However long it takes will be too long.
Sunday Vere
by Alicia E. Stallings
The two of them stood in the middle water,
The current slipping away, quick and cold,
The sun slow at his zenith, sweating gold,
Once, in some sullen summer of father and daughter.
Maybe he regretted he had brought her—
She'd rather have been elsewhere, her look told—
Perhaps a year ago, but now too old.
Still, she remembered lessons he had taught her:
To cast towards shadows, where the sunlight fails
And fishes shelter in the undergrowth.
And when the unseen strikes, how all else pales
Beside the bright-dark struggle, the rainbow wroth,
Life and death weighed in the shining scales,
The invisible line pulled taut that links them both.
Sunday Vere
Fishing
by Alicia E. Stallings
The two of them stood in the middle water,
The current slipping away, quick and cold,
The sun slow at his zenith, sweating gold,
Once, in some sullen summer of father and daughter.
Maybe he regretted he had brought her—
She'd rather have been elsewhere, her look told—
Perhaps a year ago, but now too old.
Still, she remembered lessons he had taught her:
To cast towards shadows, where the sunlight fails
And fishes shelter in the undergrowth.
And when the unseen strikes, how all else pales
Beside the bright-dark struggle, the rainbow wroth,
Life and death weighed in the shining scales,
The invisible line pulled taut that links them both.
