They called you King Edward.
There were colors spilling from your guitar, swirling into sounds that shook us, the eruption we didn’t expect.
You molded our tiny, fragile worlds until we found our own strengths, and cancer found yours.
Goodnight, King. There’s still a glow from the fire on stage.
Angela Carlton wrote this tribute to Eddie Van Halen.
Sissy’s behind gray walls, the day of competition. Singing occasionally with radios in quiet rooms, I find some courage. As poison takes over her brain, doctors with false hope insert silver needles.
But I sing, dizzy, from worn out bones, my only sister, broken.
Behind velvet curtains, I let go.
Angela Carlton lives outside Atlanta with her husband and two daughters. Her fiction has been published in EWR, Every Day Fiction, Pedestal Magazine, Long Story Short, 6S, High Noon and Friday Flash Fiction among others.