Wednesday, August 26, 2015

New Words and Images by Wayne H. W Wolfson

I had to let her go on up the stairs ahead of me because of how she took them. Always, a jaunty dance of rapidly, three steps up then two back down.
The polished wooden floors amplified the sunlight, a golden glow of peace that I would always mistrust. I worried too that the angel was not real as I did not see how the vast expanse of wings could fit through the little slits in the back of the robe.
Her concern was enough to make the stairs gently creak. I do not speak. What was the point with only a few minutes to burn in heaven before falling back through.

Op 9, No 2
The sky is gray but in this drabness it makes the light from our place shine like a distant star or the blush of your cheeks during warmer months.
Inside the air is slightly smoky from wild boar sausage. It is not acrid but a heaviness which is a comfort.
The cool mineral notes of our drinks. Waiting for our meal, I start to tattoo the back of the card which announces the house drink specials. My pen bleeds from the neck and my hands echo in kind.

- Wayne H. W Wolfson 2015

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