There were no horsemen. No atoms were split. No invading armies or asteroid impacts. Nothing that would etch our last moments in pyroclastic ash. It came slowly. With indifference and poisoned tongues. Fatigue, and no remembrance of things past. It came begging, hold on, through tight lips and closed eyes.
Jeremy Day lives in Ottawa with his wife and two children.
The piano is upright, so it takes less space. You have to look inside to see the maker and year. A wire has snapped, yet the hammers hit true. There is magic here; Beethoven, Bach, Rachmaninoff. But our kids play chopsticks and mash away. And for me, this is everything.
Jeremy lives in Ottawa with his wife and two children.
“I’m afraid I’m leaving you,” you said at dinner.
Slightly drunk on wine, I smiled. Later, I kissed you goodnight. My dreams were troubled.
In the morning you were gone. Sunlight failed to warm or wake you, so I rose and walked to the kitchen. A stranger in our house.
Jeremy lives in Ontario, Canada, with his wife and two young children. He loves to write, but seldom does. He has amassed a significant pile of books as “must reads” by his bedside that get picked at page by page, but have not been finished. Jeremy loves his children, and looks forward to finishing those books, whenever Paw Patrol is not a thing anymore.