Short Stories. Photos and pictures. Poems even.


Gothic Wedding


“Yes, we have Champagne.  Also Pinot Noir. There are additional cases in the boiler room.”


“I got $2500. It is not enough. I need more money. I have to pay for the Limousine also.”

                        She hangs up the phone.

                       “I’m not going to go down on this all by myself!”

                        Banging of the cabinet doors.

I cannot sleep. There are noises in the hallway. People coming in and talking with loud voices. Children.

“Who allowed so many children here tonight? I told only two!”

“What is going on?” I asked.

“Don’t worry, some guests are just leaving.”

 The clock is a little past 11 P.M.

I hear the couple come in. Laughter. Oh, the bridesmaids are something else! Guys love them. They all enter into the room across of mine, where earlier that afternoon a lady was wheeled in after an operation. Crying.

Is that a room of a dying relative? Did they want her to witness the wedding? Why so close to midnight?

The wedding wows are said.

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Ventimiglia!”

Cheerful laughter.

The limousine has arrived, people are scattering around, leaving. But the couple wants to visit the morgue first before going out.

Banging of the cabinets and drawers go on and on and on and on….

A gothic wedding?

Or me under strong hallucinational medication?


Mirror Lake Revisited


The temples tick.

The eyes burn.

My son, always caring, wraps up a cold wash cloth on my forehead.

It is such a relief!

I’m in the Mirror Lake again, immersed in the cool water,

I let the wave ripple right below my eyes.

He repeats it several times, many of days. He is caring.

When my son is sick, I don’t know how to help him.

I can only love.

While I like calm lakes,

His element is the Atlantic Ocean.


Leave a comment


I have never, ever seen such vibrant colors!

The colors of jungle: Greens! Thousands of greens!

Sun flickering between the leaves.

Reds and tangerines!

Parrots on the treetops, butterflies and bees,

Wings fluttering between the leaves.

Where is this?

I have to know!

I spread my wings and go:

Like a bird.

Never felt so free!


Comes time to land,

Where shall I rest?

Not that white building, it’s not my nest.

Good Morning. Ready to wake up?

The sun lingers yellow on the eye lids,

The blue shadows dance.

I know where I am.

But what a feeling,

I know I am healing!


Leave a comment



“Mom! Do you always need to talk to people?”

My young daughter asked, years ago.


“I do. I get to tell my stories, and I always,

ALWAYS get better stories back”.

Recently she was at a fair.

She heard two people talking my language,

the mother tongue from her childhood.

She approached them.

“OMG” she said to herself:

“I have become my own mother! “

“But did you enjoy the conversation?”

“Yes, I DID.”

Life is fascinating!


How old do you need to be

to call a fifty someone a

“young man?”

Laughing out loud!

Crying a little.

Life is fleeting!


Leave a comment


“How old do you think the Doctor is?” She asks me.

“Hmm, I never thought about it. I would say,

Young man, mid fifties”

“That’s about right then. I figured so also.”


“In the Fifties my older sister babysat for a family,

The father was a dentist.

They had a little boy named Lee.

I often wondered if that was the same family.”

“Why don’t you ask the Doctor?”

“No, I can’t” She says it,  almost breathless.

“Why not? I think he is approachable.

It might bring up nice memories for him!”

“No, I can’t.” she said.

“You know, doctors only breathe doctors.”

That brings up two questions.


I See You

After the operation I was in the recovery room for hours, maybe days.

I never really asked. In the darkness, wrapped around with machines,

unaware of the hospital rush.

The thoughts on hold like my life.

Afterwards I remembered the occasional feeling of pure light seeping

through the eye lids and the warmth of somebody in the room.

It could be imagination, but it felt good.

I came and sat by you. I liked looking at you, while you were sleeping.

Who could understand my mood and melancholy better than someone

who walked in the woods that smelled of pine trees and cranberries

and rain?

An Angel.