conscience

10

Morning After Mourning

A quiet appeal, whispering, waking, Attempting to relieve the self-inflicted aching, Heavy with sleeplessness, I reject any reckoning, Of my conscience, beckoning, beckoning, beckoning. But the attempts of the devil to leave me immobilized Are weaker than the guilt that has me hypnotized, And in that split second, I open my eyes. My soul kindles a flame, summons me to follow, Says, “Leave not the grieving for tomorrow.” The blanket of stars, ever luminescent, I am brought under, By the destroyer of pleasures that wakes me from slumber. I...

12

The Handicapped Sign

The nearest parking spot. It always looked so appealing, so tempting. But then again, it also always was clearly marked with the “Handicapped Only” sign, along with all of the nearby alluring spots. Not that I ever put much thought into that. It just meant we couldn’t park there. But one day, all of that changed. There, while looking through my car window into the oppressive August heat, I experienced an epiphany. It was a sweltering afternoon when my mother left us kids in the car, right next to...