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It was the summer
of overturned garbage bins
muddy paw prints
and scat found in backyard corners.
© 2006, Diane Scott
She stole my breath
With tiny kisses
Made a ring around me
Out of roses
And fairy dust
Turned my night into morning
And my mourning to dancing
With tambourines of butterfly wings
© 2006, Nanette Guadiano-Campos
Only later, alone in the dark, she finds herself again. Eva opens her eyes and listens to the labored breathing of the woman lying in the neighboring bed. They are strangers, yet their breaths mingle intimately in the stagnant air.
Everything is unfamiliar. There are obscure shadows flitting about on the walls. Somewhere in the room a clock ticks. The faucet in the bathroom drips. There is a sharp-sour waft of ethanol in the air. Somewhere a door opens, shuts and hurried steps and squeaking wheels echo along the hallway. Then silence again.
© 2006, Alice Lapuerta