 RF |
The Disappearing Magic Hour
Rachel Jones
The light flickers as the radiant glow
fills the room
Bringing with it sound and motion.
My eye reflects the images
That I absorb unquestioningly
That fill my thoughts and move my heart.
Bright images of a funnier world, of an ordered world,
Of a world that resolves in thirty to sixty minutes.
Perfect little worlds even in their imperfection.
But what of my world?
When my thirty to sixty minutes have passed what have I accomplished?
Did I solve a crime or make people laugh?
Did I cure a sickness or quell a family argument?
Did I build memories with other people? Experiences to cherish forever?
Did the sorrow that I felt for the screen-ghost comfort him?
My world was silent and solitary.
Filled with fuzzy light, sound and shadows.
I gave my world up to be in theirs.
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Ode to Edna
Sandra Clay
Tomorrow, a birthday,
Forty-fifth for me.
How do I grasp it-
the meaning that lies within?
In that year, lay a woman,
Young and full of hope,
Giving birth to a daughter,
First-born of their love.
And beside her, a man,
Strong and proud;
Protecting.
Now lies this woman, frail . . .
Dying and withdrawn;
Beside her, her man, impotent;
Heart-bleeding.
My life has become a bridge
Between then
and now.
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Her Faith
Mark Stokes
Sensing the warmth of His presence
She feels Faith
Marveling at His blinding radiance
She sees Hope
Trusting in His constant provision
She knows Love
In a world of abject poverty
He’s her wealth
In a land of incurable disease
He’s her health
As starvation cripples
She doesn’t curse his name
As death cruelly haunts her
Her trust remains the same
Her Love is overflowing
In the Hope that He’ll be there
Her Faith is that
Her looming death
Will find her in his care |
