Diana’s March poem: you left me behind

from The Myths of the Mirror

Myths of the Mirror

pixabay image from Natan Vance

you left me behind

by D. Wallace Peach

you left me behind

because I was born in the barrio

in a shack by flooded rivers

in the dusty winds of drought

didn’t speak your tongue

or worship your god

the one who bade you

love the children

I am the meek

you left behind

because I toiled in cane fields

watched the dawn ripple through fish nets

over dying turquoise waters

tended my father’s reindeer

on the tundra’s barren crust

I bear no papers to witness my learning

my worth in coins or accounts

my worth in belonging

as a human being

I am too young, too crooked, too old

too homeless, too hungry

the wrong color emblazoned across my face

the wrong size, gender, ethnicity

the wrong way to love

to be

you needed a stranger to blame

and I am left behind

one…

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Trina: ‘In the Land of Tall Thin Shadows’

Trina liked empty cities the best and this is her best memory of New York.

She looked up, the Sun rose, partially eclipsed by a big black Moon.

Trina sat primly on the only bench on Queens Boulevard when she saw the shadow of a little boy skipping rope.

She quickly opened her journal and wrote, ‘In the land of tall thin shadows’

Then she pulled a piece of chalk from her skirts, dropped to her hands and knees, and drew a hopscotch court.

The shadow boy stopped skipping rope and came closer.

Trina stood. “Hello,” she curtsied.  “I’m Trina, and you?”

“I am a child of the Universe,” replied the shadow boy.

“I see.” Trina searched the ground for a small stone to use as a marker. “You have a right to be here?”

The shadow boy shook his head, “Maybe yes, maybe no.”

Trina laughed: “Did you lose your boy?”

“I think so. Have you seen him?”

“This is my world. No one comes here, not even shadows.”

“I don’t have a right to be here?”

“Strictly speaking, no.”

Trina found a stone and tossed it onto the court.

“What happens when you vanish?” she asked.

“I don’t exist.” The shadow boy replied.

Trina was appalled. “You stop thinking?”

“I think so.”

“How awful!”

“But I always come back when the little boy goes out to play!”

“Always?”

“Yes.”

Trina reached up and hid the Sun behind her big black moon.

Queens Boulevard went black and the shadow boy was gone.

Trina was sad.

She reached into her skirts and found a torch, then she opened her journal and wrote, ‘They sleep without dreams’

An Illustration of the Shadow Boy at play in a Bird Cage in Virtual Reality
The Shadow Boy

‘In the Land of Tall Thin Shadows’ (c) Rob Goldstein, March 2019

‘Shadow Boy’ (C) Rob Goldstein March 2019

Header Image from pixabay

I wrote this for the March Speculative Fiction prompt on Myths of the Mirror. You can join here: https://mythsofthemirror.com/2019/03/01/march-speculative-fiction-prompt/

 

The Value of a Dime

from The Eye-Dancers

Eye-Dancers

In both The Eye-Dancers and The Singularity Wheel, Mitchell Brant, Joe Marma, Ryan Swinton, and Marc Kuslanski can’t help but notice how inexpensive things are in the variant town of Colbyville.  In The Singularity Wheel, in fact, Ryan manages to secure a room in an inn for just $5 a night.  Prices like that make the boys think of period-piece movies, Beaver Cleaver, black-and-white still lifes from a bygone era, speckled with cobwebs.

Indeed, I once worked with a woman who, every year, upon receiving her annual “cost-of’-living” raise, would grouse, “Well, three percent of nothing is still nothing!”  Many of the other employees would nod their heads in agreement.  We all notice the increase in prices ($4.49 for that box of cereal?  $10 for a standard book of twenty stamps?) and are caught in the current of escalation as it continues along on its…

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