ON THE STREETS OF KAMORA by Elizabeth Hipwell

On the streets of Kamora,
a man sits at the Fountain of Angels,
eyeing the days offerings
which lie at the bottom
of the tepid water.
The man remembers when he was 
one of the click clacking masses,
on their way to work,
in the Main Dome of Kamora,
ready to pass ordinances
which allowed dogs on leashes in the park,
bettering and improving the city,
keeping it’s cobblestones,
which were erected in eras past.
The man remembers losing his position
and being put on the street 
because the cost of living in Kamora came too high.
He sits where he can,
sleeps where he can
eats what he can.
The underbelly of Kamora is paved with grease and dirt.
The great unwashed populate the parks at night.
No clickety clacks.
more ting tinging and swish swash.
The man notices all the details of Kamora,

what he was too busy to notice in “better” times.
The mosaics of the great buildings 
with the echoes of it’s former prominence.
                                                      -Liz Hipwell

BOUND by Elizabeth Hipwell

All bound up.
Twisted and tied.

How do I unravel the nuances of the past?

What’s done is done.
That’s what they say.
Let go and move on.

Snap snap.
Do it now.
No dwelling.
How dare you have feelings.

Get over it.
She died two months ago.
Stop dwelling and isolating.
Get over it.

Snap snap.
Do it now.
No dwelling.

Feelings are feelings.
What good do they do?

They help process and grieve what is done.
They help you move on, unburdened by the tug of the past.

No snap snap.
No do it now.
Dwell as long as you need to until you finally let go.

You know what it’s like
To be unburdened
To be light.

Image & Words by Elizabeth Hipwell

THE BASEMENT DOOR by Therese

     Silently calling my name a mysterious power pulls me toward the door. A deep foreboding rises in my belly and warns me of impending doom. I must cross through the laundry room to reach the door. Leaving the relative safety of the well-lit kitchen the heavy odor of mildew and dirty clothes assail my nose.

     Balls of dryer lint are carelessly strewn about mixed into layers-clothes, towels, laundry soap boxes and dryer sheets. The bottom layers are wet from the leaking washing machine and dog urine. adding to the stench is an overflowing litter box and the remains of afterbirth from a litter of kittens born on a pile of towels. clean unfolded clothes wait in vain on  top of a large rusting freezer chest.

     There it is on the right stuck half open-the dreaded basement door. The grimy light switch is left of the door. I must tread across the filth to reach it. Flipping the switch and steeling my courage I press forward to the landing lit only  by one small incandescent bulb. It glows a sickly dim yellow above me refusing to penetrate past the darkness of the stairwell.

     Creaking the old worn steps threaten to give way under me. With my throat tightening I grasp the loose wooden handrail with trembling hands. My feet slide into the shallow hollows created by countless years of use. I feel the unnatural sensation of being watched and I shiver.

     As my eyes slowly adjust to the dark, I see the pull chain to the only light hovering in the center of the room. I take a deep breath and gingerly advance one shaky step at a time. Nervously I search the shadows created by the small amount of sunlight squeezing through the windows dripping with dust and spider webs. I am ready to bolt at the slightest motion. Avoiding shallow oily puddles from the last flooding rain I squelch across the floor and reach the chain. As another chill shakes my spine I pull and turn on the light swinging on its long dangling cord.

     Finally I see my goal-a sagging shelf lined with dusty glass jars of food. Quickly I grab several jars of peaches and green beans. Half running I race back to the stairs./ I feel a strange pulling sensation in the middle of my back, but I am too shaken to look over my shoulder afraid of what I might see. Through the half open door I bolt, the malevolent air follows along. I stumble over the accumulated waste and reach the well-lit kitchen. Sighing with relief I place the hard earned jars on the table. Then it hits me, I left the lights on!
                                                         -Therese

SIREN SONG by Therese

Forming music in my brain.
Just can't get it into paint.
Rhapsody in raucous reds.
Midnight blues, furious hues.
Devilish noises resound in my head.
Lips silenced by society's dread.
One does not talk of mental ills.
Just be polite, and take your pills.
On a good day the world is grey.
A flaccid smile upon my face.
A mask to hide the thunderous roll.
Drums beating and lightening's flash.
Destruction of any calm I had.
Lulling siren of the deep dark dream.
She croons a lullaby.
Bewitched I cannot look away.
Grasping me gently in her devious hands.
Struggling babe in beguiling arms.
I slip into a pallid daze.
                                  -Image & Words by Therese                          
           (Originally published in TURNING CORNERS)