When I am an old woman, I will be a milkweed seed pod drying in the sun, wrinkled and spotted.
You will pull me open on the seam until my silver-white floss pushes through, and you’ll blow my sweet, tender seed to the wind until I am an empty shell.
Laura J. Frantz is not yet an old woman. See more at laurafrantz.com.
An antibiotic left Mama almost deaf at 92.
Long distance I call about my son’s report card.
“He’s playing the recorder? Wonderful!”
More misinterpretations follow.
Frustrated, I yell, “I love you!”
She answers, “I love you, too.”
We have that: three words rattling at the bottom of the pill bottle.
Beth Tillman has learned not to rely on the word count tool in her document production software to give her fifty. Some things can’t be delegated.
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.
The time had come for growing old together. She welcomed it with no regret, foreseeing tranquil days of tales retold, of common memories.
But he has lost the early days they shared. He wanders without her in a shadowy past.
Alone she cares for him; alone he lives on unaware.
Catherine Mathews is a State Department retiree formerly stationed overseas in Paris, Rome, Tel Aviv, Athens, Frankfurt, and Istanbul. She is now living in Northern Virginia and writing about her life.
The ghostly spectre silhouetted against the dark window sighed, the symptom of Death’s long-suffering passion.
Inside, cold breaths rattled through the lungs of Enid Westerhapf, 112 years old and at long last preparing to die.
Having awaited her for so long, Death finally welcomed her to stand by his side.
This story was based on a title provided by Master Gunner.