I reach for him.My hand extends,touches a blank wall.Shadows streak across it like puppets striking each otherwith kitchen implements.I glimpse a spinal columnin the shallow end of the pond.I reach again, not to save, but to touch.We are two opposing waters,waves in between.I remember him as a troubadour,but I no longer hear his music. I have reached the day’s midsection,a day once swollen with possibilities,now an … Continue reading One Swollen Day by Suzanne O’Connell