January 2019 - Issue No. 6

You've been gone for a long time now,
and I think of you, reminded beneath
the autumn skies of bright trees and times,
rocky roads and twilights along the shores.
Birds flying home for the night.

I wish I could hear your voice,
ask your advice—you'd have given it anyway—
I wonder if you would understand,
or whether I'd turn away disappointed,
reminded that what was us cannot be replicated.

I return to today, to all the tomorrows
till we meet again. I wonder, will we catch up,
share all that's happened between then and now.
Or will the gap of time be swallowed
by the peace and joy at arriving home.

Bio: Brigitte Whiting lives in Maine and often uses settings and experiences from her backyard in her writing. She earned Fiction Writing Certificates from Gotham Writers Workshop and UCLA-Ext and is working on her WVU-MFA Certificate. In addition to facilitating WVU classes, she meets weekly with two local writers' groups.

Read more: To RBW: An Elegy

This past summer and fall upturned me. The birdfeeder, usually so generous, abdicated her job, and I had to scrounge for food during the long wet season. My mother told me it was unusual to have such a rainy August and October. She would know. I was born in mid-spring so I could only know what I lived with now. It was hot, or it rained, or it was cold.

I was still just a kid, so I played with my siblings. We red squirrels enjoyed romping and chasing each other through dark tunnels and around tree trunks while our mother watched us from a low tree branch or sat in the grass.

Then one day, she told us, "It's time for you to fend for yourselves. Snow and cold will soon be here. We reds need to eat every day so we must store food. Find a home and make it snug and dry using leaves." She looked up and around at the grass which was now covered with leaves.

She continued. "If you use your noses and eyes, you'll find acorns under the leaves. Bury as many of those as you can but remember where you put them. You'll be glad you did when it gets cold."

I shivered at the thought of cold air and I balked at the idea of finding my own nest. My mother's had been warm and inviting but now she bared her big front teeth and...

Read more: A Red Squirrel's Narrative

We never should have bought this old house.  We sunk all our savings into it plus we took on a mortgage so huge that at this point I would have to pay out money just to get rid of the place.

I hate the sounds this house makes.  I hate the way it smells.  It’s a completely different house than it was the first day I walked in here.  That first day it was sunny.  This house at the top of the hill looked glorious even though it obviously needed work.  Sun sparkled off the windows and it was surrounded by green, lush trees.  Sam and I walked through it, room by room, amazed at the open area and imagining all we could do with it.  That perky realtor encouraged our dreams.  She thought our offer might be accepted.  It was all we had.

Champagne and chocolates were our celebratory dinner when we closed and the next day the movers brought our furniture then box after box.  Pictures were hung, beds were made, fluffy pillows were thrown onto the couch.  Cable was hooked up, and we snuggled in front of a real fireplace enjoying the heat as fall closed in. 

But the changing season brought more than just cold.  Sam shivered and coughed at first.  Simply a virus, we thought.  A few Tylenol and a good night’s sleep ought to take care of it.  ...

Read more: Ruler of the House