Morning Meditation
I wake to the sound of seagulls laughing, they float against the sky riding currents from another land. The air is moist and smells of the Gulf, memories of sand and waves. Continue reading Morning Meditation
Author: Charlotte Hamrick
Charlotte Hamrick’s creative writing and photographs have been published in a number of literary journals and anthologies. Her debut prose chapbook, Offset Melodies, is included in Grieving Hope (ELJ Editions), a collection of five microchaps. She is Managing Editor for Reckon Review.
Up One Day, Down the Next
A frog croaks in my backyard, he knows the rains are coming. Another joins in and they sing a chorus separately and together. The air is ripe with humidity, moments suspended in invisible droplets. The rains are coming and all I want to do is sleep. Continue reading Up One Day, Down the Next
Busybody
Shut your probing, beady eyes and quash your caws cuz I don’t wanna hear nuthin’ you have to say. You can ruffle your feathers all day long but you won’t ruffle mine. Damn ole crow. Continue reading Busybody
Without
Do the stars sparkle for me? Do they cast their light upon my wandering head as I lie gazing into a universe beyond my reach. Do they know that green eyes blue eyes brown eyes all look above and wish upon them in unison with one tremulous voice from many places that have no shine. Do the stars sing for me? Do they look down at where I lay my head and whisper a celestial lullabye to all lost children tethered to their despair with invisible chains that cannot be seen, cannot be cut , but is felt every minute … Continue reading Without
“In a sense, that beginner’s mind is what we must come back to every time we sit down and write. There is no security, no assurance that because we wrote something good two months ago, we will do it again.” – Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones Continue reading
Dark/Light
You walked a golden path and I was in front beating the bushes for hidden dangers, eyes darting left and right, a force field of high alert with the tingle of anticipation stiffening my spine. Behind, your face radiated the beatific smile of the innocent ignorant, the birthright of The Golden, of the ones who know nothing of terror, spite or shame, but see only through eyes of sunlight. At the end, we were both too blind —- I by suspicion, you by trust —- to see the tip of a cloven hoof at the bottom of the door. Continue reading Dark/Light
Wingless
We watched for the return of the birds. The air around the house was silent and devoid of flutterings, a vacuum of tweets and whistles. What straggling flowers were left went hummingbirdless while twigs and string were just twigs and string with no hope of sheltering featherless offspring. It was strangely quiet, as though they were all sucked into a void somewhere and became dinosaurs again in another dimension. Kind of like our love, they were a wondrous memory for a time until slowly finding their way back home. Continue reading Wingless
Cold Front
I want to listen to the wind. I turn off the lamp and snuggle in my bed underneath an extra blanket, my feet warm in socks that go abandoned in summer. I wriggle my toes against the enclosed softness and watch the shadows of the palms sway behind the curtains. All is still save for the swishing of the wind and the wriggling of my toes. Continue reading Cold Front
