She looked through her cataract cloud. Her hair, like the bathroom mirror, had silvered. Her face showed cracks like the tile. Toothbrushes… two?
Nothing looked familiar. Not the photo of children that fluttered from her purse to the cold tile floor. Not the gray-haired man who carried her to bed.
Eileen McIntyre writes to the hum of hummingbird wings and listens to critique from crows in the woods of Northern California.
This morning, we do the crossword puzzle on the floor, just like we did the day we moved in fiftysome years ago, before we had furniture or the children who will, today, help us move into assisted living. We’re rusty at the clues, but the coffee tastes just as hot.
Ingrid Jendrzejewski grew up in Vincennes, Indiana, and loves cryptic crosswords and the game of go. Recently, she won the Bath Flash Fiction Award. Links to Ingrid’s writing can be found at ingridj.com and she occasionally tweets @LunchOnTuesday.
I don’t remember anymore.
I have a disease, but I can’t remember what it is called.
I can remember things, but they seem so long ago. From when I was younger.
Someone helps me, and I think she is special to me.
Fog rolls over me, and she is gone.
Gordon Lysen resides in Manitoba, Canada and spends his time between the city of Winnipeg and his true home at Sugar Point on Lake Manitoba. Retired from police work after some 27 years, Gordon co-authored the novel “A Deadly Blend of Souls” with his wife, Lisa. Writing and painting are Gordon’s relaxation methods when retirement becomes too stressful.
The daffodils were open only a day when the wind bowled most of them over.
I gathered all those with broken stems and put them in a vase and put the vase on the table. This is what life is like after 60, the light, indecisive, distraught, sprouting black feathers.
Howie Good is the author of Danger Acts Starring Unstable Elements, winner of the 2015 Press Americana Prize for Poetry.
My mother leans into my father and points at the elderly man at the far end of the nursing home dining room. My father sports a baseball cap; the old man wears a fedora.
Over the clatter, and behind the shield of her other hand, mother asks, “Is that you?”
Gail Louise Siegel’s work has appeared in many journals and anthologies from Ascent to Wigleaf. She is from Chicago.
The random coin Fred got in change at the coffee shop was so worn and grimy that he had to rub it vigorously with this thumb, hold it right up to his face, and squint to read the date.
Yep, that’s what he thought: the same year he was born.
John Sheirer is the author of several books for adults and children. His most recent is a book of alphabet poems called, The Alpha Dog Alphabet, featuring photos of his canine coauthor, Libby.
Everyone watched in silence as she placed her old, shaky hands on the piano for one last time. A tear rolled down her cheek as she tried to remember what she had once played.
I stay huddled in the corner, too young to understand.
Now she is dead.
Alessandra Merto is a 6th grade student. She likes reading, writing, dancing, and running.
I sat by the river contemplating life.
In that short span of time, the seasons begun to change, and I said goodbye to my childhood days.
They disappeared down the river as nature blew a gift into my palm.
I smiled, melancholy.
And the autumn leaves melted in my hand.
Kymberli Roberson lives in Illinois where she is currently hunting down the goblins of writer’s block.
When my mom remembers, she refers to me by both my first and middle name, Carol Ann. When she forgets, she asks for her daughter.
Sometimes I forget what a great mom she had been. Sometimes I remember, and give her an extra long embrace before leaving the nursing home.
Debra Danz was born and raised in Brooklyn, NY, and now resides in Switzerland with her two children. She is currently writing a book, which will be dedicated to her late husband and composed of short stories inspired by his photography. Debra participates in a club called The Writing Women of Zurich and contributes to their blog. One of Debra’s Short stories is forthcoming in The Bookends Review.
My birthday arrives with anticipation on a yearly basis. It keeps on coming even after 70 years. My birthday is less important than it once was. No parties. No cakes. Just well wishes.
Yet as I age, the number becomes important. Will I beat the usual life span?
Dave Thomas retired years ago and stumbled on this fascinating writing technique through Daniel Pink. Dave had never written before, nor had he ever been published. Just dreaming.