Chasing Fireflies
Haiku Of Barefoot Nostalgia
By C.S. RosingPublished about a year ago • Updated about a year ago • 1 min read
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Tiny Toes In Blades
Of Grass, Unknowing. Hourglass
Of Fireflies Glowing.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson5 days ago in Fiction
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