Perdita ignores traffic on the steps of the National Gallery, lamenting a brain that’s for the birds. She marks time with labored creases, origami swelling at her feet.
Her memories grow thin, likes the spines of paper sparrows, but she will come here daily, until she forgets how to fold.
Susannah earned an MFA in Creative Nonfiction from Queens University of Charlotte. Her flash fiction and poetry have appeared in Apocrypha and Abstractions, The Story Shack, and Eskimo Pie. Her artwork and photography have appeared in Gravel, The Tishman Review, and Oxford Magazine.
I try to be patient but it’s tough. He often forgets who I am.
And he’s acting more peculiar than ever. Last week he made a caterpillar walk on the rim of his teacup. Said it’d go on for years if you just set it straight once in a while.
Mark Farley is attempting to write 1,000,000 words in 2016. Only 7,000 to go; please wish him luck! See more at mumbletoes.blogspot.com
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.
I don’t interrupt; that would be rude.
She’s telling me the same story of nearly drowning that I’ve heard before. She’s determined to squeeze out every memory before it’s gone.
Like my mother’s boxed wine, her memories have slowly dripped out onto the floor, and she doesn’t even know it.
R. H. Palmer lives in Southern Illinois and spends her free time listening to old records and terrorizing her cats.