Still Waters

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excerpt

As they sauntered, and Morley talked, Tyne breathed in the pleasing
aroma of new lumber and tried to imagine walls, furniture, cheerful
draperies at windows, and white curtains surrounding and separating
beds. Morley walked her through what would be the maternity
wing, its rooms consisting of four-bed wards, one semi-private and
one private room. There was a labour room, and the delivery room
with a workroom across from it.
He pointed out the tiny laboratory and the x-ray with the dark
room for developing films. She wondered how he could remember
so precisely the location of every service. Apart from the large space
for the kitchen, it all looked much the same to her. They passed a
recessed area where he said the nurses’ station and chart room would
be, then led her down another wing which corresponded to the maternity
wing on the other end of the building. At a framed-in doorway,
he stopped and turned to her.
“Now this, Miss Milligan,” he said with formality, “is where your
interest will certainly lie. Allow me to show you around the surgical
suite.”
“Oh, my land,” Tyne said, amazed. “It’s … it’s so ….”
“Small,” Morley finished for her.
“Well … but it’s right for the size of the hospital, of course.”
A fairly large room with framed-in windows was, he said, the
main operating room. Across from it a much roomier space would
contain the workroom and clean-up area. A linen and supply cupboard,
a doctor’s change room and a small operating room, which
would double as an emergency and outpatient area, made up the
remainder of the space.
“But the windows in the operating room?” Tyne said, a question
in her voice, “I’m surprised at that. It doesn’t seem sanitary. Will they
be made to open?”
“Yes, apparently they will.” He grinned. “An air-conditioned operating
room, of course.”
Tyne grimaced and turned away. So be it. She didn’t know if she
would ever have to work in a small country hospital, but one thing
she was sure of – it would certainly take some getting used to.
They parted beside his pickup, standing on the frozen rough
ground that would one day be the ambulance entrance to a side…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763068

In Turbulent Times

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excerpt

‘The Twelfth’ means one thing to the Protestants of Northern Ireland: the annual Protestant celebration on the twelfth of July. This is the Orangemen’s Day, the day on which they turn out in their thousands to commemorate the 1690 Battle of the Boyne, in which the Protestant King William III defeated the forces of the deposed Catholic King James and thereby ensured that the British monarchy would be forever Protestant. The commemoration takes the form of parades throughout Northern Ireland, the largest being in the city of Belfast which takes on a festive atmosphere, at least in the Unionist areas. At the start of July, some of these Unionist areas will proudly fly Union flags, Ulster flags, sometimes even the flag of Scotland, from lamp posts and houses, and stretch lines of red, white and blue bunting over the streets. In especially Loyalist areas householders decorate their homes with defiant displays of bunting and flags, touch up murals depicting historic Protestant themes, attach small banners to lamp posts, and erect arches across residential streets or even main roads, the arches ranging from elaborate wooden, trellised constructions to a couple of ropes hung with the ubiquitous flags and bunting.
Orangemen on parade typically wear a dark suit, an Orange sash, white gloves and a bowler hat. They march in orderly rows behind flute, brass, silver or pipe bands, each lodge bearing aloft its large, elaborate banner. Orange banners are a significant part of the culture of Northern Ireland, particularly for the Protestant community, and one of the most prominent genres of folk art in the province. They depict in luxuriant detail heroes of the Orange Institution or historic or biblical scenes, or Unionist symbols, the most popular subject being King William on his white horse, purportedly crossing the River Boyne. An Orange parade is a noisy, boisterous, colourful demonstration of Protestant supremacy, with its hundreds of bands and banners and sashes, its jubilant throngs of spectators lining the route of the march or supporters walking alongside their favourite band or lodge, singing provocative Orange songs at the top of their voices. The Belfast-born poet, Louis MacNeice, wrote about ‘the voodoo of the Orange bands / Drawing an iron net through darkest Ulster…’
While The Twelfth is a Protestant celebration, not all Protestants celebrate it, whether for personal political or cultural reasons or from bored indifference. One such was Robert Hanlon, a Protestant married to a non-practising Catholic. He always left his native city on The Twelfth, happy to flee to the peace of the countryside. On the weekend before the big day …

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562904

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763270

Wheat Ears

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Ηeat Wave
Soft island hills
lapping on sea froth
cicadas fire up
their endless arias
come close to me, you said to me,
stand before me like Hermes
a naked graceful cypress
that I’ll keep you
in my eyes for
the long winter days
when we’ll be apart
moments I’ll
yearn for your warmth
come close to me, I beg you
let me touch your skin
the day is fiery
and unbearable like
the body’s conflagration

https://draft2digital.com/book/3748127#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BKHW4B4S

Neo-Hellene Poets: An Anthology of Modern Greek Poetry

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KISS
Like golden sails my dreams sail slowly
on the lustful seas of fantasy
and glide to where you’ve gone,
where your two eyes laugh and cry
where you shine, beloved lily,
girl of unblemished beauty,
and tuneful songs join your enchantment
that breathes from unkissed lips.
My saddened heart rejoices when
in night’s cool darkness, tempest passed,
you come to bloom, my little flower,
in the lonely orchard of the world.
My soul that never learned to kiss
then knows immaculate ecstasy.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562959

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763513

Small Change

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excerpt

sixteen-year-old breasts, long legs, the outline of her female parts where the wet cloth of the suit pulled tight, and I felt a surprising warmth flow down from my racing heart to fill the netted sling in my swim trunks with muscular intensity. I could barely breathe. My head seemed to float above my shoulders, and as I stared like a hypnotized animal, she caught my look and smiled.
I never saw her again until that fall. It was almost supper time; the street was deserted and it had begun to get cold. She came right up to me and I felt my chest tighten till I was breathless and a little giddy. I couldn’t read the look on her face. It was amused, but not quite sure of what she was going to do, as if she were crossing a line, or testing something, and there was a challenge too, and I remembered that smile from the summer and I saw it now as something else, something that made me feel a flicker of anxiety along with the excitement and the wonder of this unexpected proximity.
She didn’t say hello, or what’s your name, or I know you, she just blurted it out, “Wanna wrestle?” and she was a little breathless too. It was something my friends and I did all the time, but I’d never even imagined wrestling with a girl, much less an older girl who was already a woman, and I didn’t know what to think about that, and before I could think anything, she stepped up and put her right arm around my neck, trying to pull me into a headlock. I slipped out, spun around, grabbed her forearm and wrist and attempted to force her arm behind her back, but she was taller and heavier than I was and she used her weight to push me off balance. She grabbed me from behind, but I squirmed around until we were face to face inside her bear hug, and I could feel her warmth, smell the light fragrance of her deodorant and a deeper, muskier scent that astonished and aroused me so quickly that I could feel my stiffness fit between her legs, and her face looked shocked and she tried to twist away and we fell, and my ankle caught on the curb and she landed on top of me, both of us breathing hard, and I heard a dull crack, and a stab of pain like an electric current that shot up my left leg, and I went pale and started to faint, and she looked scared, rolled off of me, took off at a full run down the street.
I lay there catching my breath and wondering what to do next. When I tried to get back on my feet, the pain shot up from my ankle again and I felt a moment of panic. How long would I have to lie here before I could walk? Should I yell for someone to help me?

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763157

HEAR ME OUT

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Fleece Bed-Sheets
Soft, warm fleece fabric checkered red and green color.
The winter bed-sheets of my single life were put on the bed, my love.
For how long I hadn’t spread them?
When we slept together the warmth of your body was enough to keep next to you, with no need for them, like a cat purring of happiness.
Now the bed is too big and cold.
You aren’t next to me and the sweet sensation of the fleece fabric is the only thing that can keep me warm during the cold winter nights.
I remember the first time you spent in my house.
I was a single woman and in the bed I had these two fleece bed-sheets.
When we embrace for the first time and felt the sweat of our lust the sheets were drenched in our love.
The next morning when you kissed me before you left for work you asked me to change them into the linen sheets because the night before you were too hot.
Last night I went to bed in those fleece sheets after a long time I discovered something of our smell has remained in the fabric.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562946

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763807

Yannis Ritsos – Poems, Volume VI

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Crack
Through the slightly open door, you saw
the disguised fox getting into the full chicken pen.
Its little raised tail, and with soft movements,
dusted the stars. Then the old men with rotten
teeth lay down with their backs on the yard tiles,
still expecting something and having a dry
tree branch in their shirts. This was needed,
he’d say, and this too. It seemed that he didn’t believe it
nor he expect the others to believe him. The thin
woman took the glass, went close to him, bent
her small finger and passed the ring of his smoke
as if she was the only one who believed him.

https://draft2digital.com/book/4278093#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763785

Medusa

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Message
In the wedge of pain
I type the message
rushing, misspelling
hoping to get your answer
to fill my lonely hours
But you don’t answer
and for the third time, I send it,
edited and corrected
not knowing that hugging
the laughter of your comforter
you’ve fallen asleep leaving
your muted phone
on your nightstand

https://draft2digital.com/book/3745982#print

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763769

The Circle

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excerpt

“We’ll be here. You know William, he doesn’t like to go out very much.
You’re welcome to come and stay with us; what time are you getting into San
Francisco? We’ll come and pick you up, or I’ll come and pick you up.”
“Oh, you don’t have to, Evelyn. I’ll be just fine getting a cab.”
“Nonsense! What time is your flight, Bevan?” Her voice is firm.
“I’ll be in around five or just a bit past five. Flight 673.”
“Well now, you just stay and wait for me, even if I’m late. I’ll come pick you
up okay?”
“Okay, Evelyn,” Bevan puts the phone down.
He starts packing his bag, which he does so professionally after all the years of
repetitive action. He’s very happy that he talked to her and whistles a tune as he
puts his things together.

Hakim is back from his walk in Memorial Park and takes a quick shower. He
didn’t feel like going to the office this morning, and after calling Peter, decided it
wasn’t necessary for him to be there. He’s anxious to see Talal later in the afternoon.
He has promised to pick them up from the airport. He wants to hear all
about the trip and what Talal has to say about his uncle. There’re so many things
he needs to talk to Ibrahim about and it’s impossible to talk directly to the old
man these days, as he knows certain things cannot be discussed over the phone
or by computer. He might take a quick trip to Iraq soon, after he moves to the
new place. First he wants to know what news Talal has for him.
When he is done with his shower, he calls Jennifer to ask what time she’ll be
getting home.
“Hi there, baby. How’s your schedule later on?”
“I’ll be leaving a bit early, honey; shall be there in an hour. What time is the
flight coming in?”
“About five; we should leave no later than four.”
“Okay then, I’ll be home long before that; see you, love you.” She sounds
excited, as she’s also anxious to see her mother and hear all about her trip.
Hakim logs on to the computer and tries to get in touch with his uncle. He
sees, to his surprise, that Mara answers his message.
“Hello, my dear Hakim, how are you?”
“I’m okay, Mara. Where is Ibrahim?”
“He is in bed, sweetheart. He wasn’t feeling well today; he’s been in pain since
this morning, even before Talal and Emily left. Have they arrived yet?”

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562817

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0978186524

Hours of the Stars

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F
After the death of authority
we waited for the king’s celebrations
messengers of the lost war and
the orders of the slaughtered
on these sunken mountains
we waited for the vow of youth forgotten
along with the adventure of the roads
we carry the light and the spade
of the eighth day
entrusted in us
by the bitterness of God.
With the silence of memory
that consumes us
wrapped like an ivy over our bodies
with the music of love
spent along the bands of stench
with the full of holes prayer
of the Esfigmeni monks.

https://draft2digital.com/book/3562939

https://www.amazon.com/dp/1926763408