Flash in the Pan
A Quarterly Posting at Tiny Lights
by Susan Bono
Tonight, my sleep is fitful, and even the sensation of clean sheets excites me into wakefulness. From this jumble of tossed blankets, I m nearly able to calculate the place in the shadows which opens into that other dimension. I am oppressed by the conviction that it is time to get up now, really. The moonlight conspires, like music, to stir me.
And when I do manage to doze, images of marble angels appear behind my closed eyelids. A flutter of stone wings, a wind, those beautifully sad expressions. In the obscuring darkness those grieving forms—so human—seem about to change positions.
I think about the taboo of entering a cemetery at night. In the dim, silent hours, when things are quiet here, maybe whatever lives beyond takes tentative steps through the graveyard toward us. How much progress might they make on their midnight journeys? Might they come on a night like this, when moonlight spreads a path across the sleeping city, to stand at the foot of my bed, to question or take me?
I am not frightened by this thought, but the possibility keeps me alert. In the stillness between breaths, I can almost hear the sound of stone feet loosening from stone pedestals.
Susan Bono came across this Flash in a journal dated May, 1998.
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