M. Goodman-Dante
Bio
Passionate wordsmith, qualitative researcher, public speaker, photographer. Known for justice based blogging, critical writing, and communication workshops. M is also popular for her more esoteric creative non-fiction and poetry.
Stories (6/0)
Garden of Sand
In a garden made of sand, I died today. I have been dead all the day long. There is lethargy to a non-soul which is overwhelmingly melancholy. Time non-existent. No needs to forgo. All sits seemingly peaceful here in the void of life destroyed. There is no noise. No breeze. Sleeping in my destiny…
By M. Goodman-Dante2 years ago in Poets
Hotel Queenie
The bathroom adjacent to the dining area simply was not clean enough. Obviously the hotel staff should be more attentive to detail. Queenie was sure of this as she separated the crisp squares of toilet tissue, placing them gingerly on the seat of her throne. There was nothing actually wrong with the bathroom, though she found herself in need of sanitizing nonetheless. “Disgusting!” she muttered, her face contorted as she went about this unpleasant task. Despite her whisperings of despair, she enjoyed the moments of solitude, meticulously folding each square of paper. It was when she was most at peace. Once folded into a square or rectangle, the torn tissue could accommodate a need. The immediate need was to cover the toilet seat of the downstairs bathroom, which was located in the main washroom of the hotel. The hotel was a very special place, indeed!
By M. Goodman-Dante2 years ago in Fiction
Hotel Queenie
The bathroom adjacent to the dining area simply was not clean enough. Obviously the hotel staff should be more attentive to detail. Queenie was sure of this as she separated the crisp squares of toilet tissue, placing them gingerly on the seat of her throne. There was nothing actually wrong with the bathroom, though she found herself in need of sanitizing nonetheless. “Disgusting!” she muttered, her face contorted as she went about this unpleasant task. Despite her whisperings of despair, she enjoyed the moments of solitude, meticulously folding each square of paper. It was when she was most at peace. Once folded into a square or rectangle, the torn tissue could accommodate a need. The immediate need was to cover the toilet seat of the downstairs bathroom, which was located in the main washroom of the hotel. The hotel was a very special place, indeed!
By M. Goodman-Dante2 years ago in Fiction
Wasn’t Tomorrow Wonderful?
“Wasn’t Tomorrow Wonderful?” Shared in memory of Greg Teetsell. “Oh, darling!” she exclaimed. Her blue eyes lit bright, lips tinted pink like an old photograph. “Wasn’t tomorrow wonderful?” Sparkling confetti fell through the air. “Wasn’t it just extraordinary?” They were dancing on top of the world. Band music played softly in the background. The moment was eternal as the singer crooned, “Time marches on.” Cheek to cheek. Her smile so beautiful. So lovely. Then just as suddenly her teeth turned yellow and black at the gum as her skin dried and scaled, creating a powdery residue on the cheek of the man she embraced. He brought his hand to her face and took her into the hollow of his palm. They kissed. Eyes closed. Lips rotting as they touched lightly on that intimate flesh. The stench of death filling her nostrils, penetrating something painfully deep inside her core. Wasn’t it all just wonderful?
By M. Goodman-Dante2 years ago in Fiction
Muzak & Dead Fish
Muzak & Dead Fish: After church services and dinner the Caregiver helped the old woman put the birds to bed. She sat with the woman at least once a week for six hours at a time. It was one of the most onerous cases in late life care she'd ever had, but the two had become accustomed with each other, and though difficult, it was not entirely unpleasant. They both had the same nickname, and they both liked to read. These were simple similarities which made the differences less of a labyrinth. The Caregiver liked putting the birds to bed. It was a brightly colored, beautiful distraction from everything else on the shift. The process involved taking thick tablecloth fabric and covering the cages after being sure all the birds were safe and ready for sleep. In one cage perched a half dozen brightly colored yellow and white birds, and in the other a larger gray, yellow and white bird with many toys hanging all throughout the inside of the fairly small cage. The fabric was too heavy, and the cages too high for the old woman to tend to by herself.
By M. Goodman-Dante2 years ago in Fiction
Time & Space:
Nostalgia and sentimental comfort live in memories of coming home after grade school. What better feeling than the day being done, running through the door, dropping book-bag, lunch box, coat, calling out a loud Hello, before heading straight to the kitchen for a snack, or fast out the back door to play? On rainy days sitting watching cartoons on the tiny kitchen television with only five stations before starting on homework. Love warms each corner, contentedness surrounds with easily found smiles.
By M. Goodman-Dante2 years ago in Families
