When the Door Closes

My secret life as a poet, writer, photographer…



Where all the Others Go

Harry died a month ago,
and I didn’t know
until today
upon reading the alert
about his archived chart.

I didn’t cry, though,
just a moment of woe
before chaos erupted,
and the clinic began,
patients struggling in, wan.

And so Harry will follow
where all the others go –
to memories,
that nebulous space
without nights or days.

Inspired by the Daily Prompt: Memory on the Menu
© 2014 All Rights Reserved

N – Nightingale Silenced, a haibun

Flo sits with gnarled hands hanging limply in her lap. The last shift is over. No need to polish the lamp. She sighs and rests her swollen feet on the ottoman.

Tired old woman
unpins her starched cap
for the last time.


Written for the A to Z Challenge and NaPoWriMo

© 2014 All Rights Reserved

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