When I look up into the clear blue and see a palm tree, I know I’m no longer living in Philadelphia. There were rarely clear skies. It was usually overcast with frequent showers or snow squalls. And once in a while, I’d see a palm tree, but they were plastic and usually outside of a gas station or a Hawaiian restaurant. Today, looking into the sky, the palms are real and always seem to be watching over me. They symbolize my new life. …
At sunrise, Shultz drove up the steep and winding San Marcos Pass. He kept thinking of his wife, Tara, and felt guilty that she wasn’t going with him for the weekend. She loved to take hikes and meditate in the woods. It was strange that she insisted that he make the trip alone.
When he first settled into his yurt, he fell into a deep depression. Everything was closing in on him — his work, relationships, and lack of connection to the world. All he wanted was to lie in bed until his sad feelings disappeared. He rested his head…
My deceased wife used to sing Elton John’s “Your Song.” And whenever it played on the radio, we’d look at each other romantically. She’d sing the lyrics, and I’d stop whatever I was doing and give her my complete attention. “It’s our song,” she said.
I think of her often. Not only am I reminded of her when “It’s a little bit funny. This feeling inside” plays on the radio, but when I look at other women. There’s one person that’s been on my mind, however. Her name is Joan, and she always flirts with me during our stretch class…
Out of comfort, we came. It was when we least expected it. We should have known; our lives were too favorable. Our lifestyle was too pleasant, too perfect to be real. It was like being in a faraway place without any concerns. A bicycle ride through sunny streets. A walk on the beach. Making friends with the ducks and having a few laughs with the crows. But then comes the broken washing machine; our dream house came crumbling apart. It fell upon us like the great tsunami.
The plumber’s intentions were sincere, but overwork impaired his judgment. Soon our lives…
The salt and pepper hairpiece passed away on May 1, 2021. He died in his sleep inside of a walk-in closet at his Toluca Lake apartments. The wearer woke up that morning only to find his toupee unresponsive to combing and unable to stick to his scalp, no matter how much tape or glue he applied.
For years, the hairpiece was undetectable.
The hairpiece was born in Majorca, Spain, to a family rich in strands of human hair. His life was a collection of brown and gray, integrated and woven into the replacement’s latticework. For years, the hairpiece was undetectable…
He was in the war
when shells exploded around him,
chaos on the run
till the break of day
No resting for the weary,
only a twenty-second
and then a stressful foray
with rifle and hand-grenade
around the rubbled, torn up
Broken bones and bodies
of friends and enemies,
corpses laying on the grass,
holes and gashes in torsos
and shrapnel in a bloodied mess
For the women and men
who served in past wars,
they lived day to day
with fingers crossed.