by Linda Simoni-Wastila
The gentle cooing of a mourning dove signals the dawn; I waken, hear the whir of highway traffic and, more distant, the lonesome wail of a train. The sky radiates a softer black, the ashen sheen it takes on just before the sun inches over the curve of the world. Somewhere, someone moans, and the night workers shush and rustle, prepare for the next group of caretakers. These are the only sounds; my mind is quiet; there is no noise, no morbid, florid thoughts, no whooshing or thrumming or humming, no lingering nightmares or images or memories. Normal? Is this what normal feels like?
6S
Linda Simoni-Wastila, by day, is an ivory-tower type who plays with big numbers and fancy statistics. When dusk falls, she powers up the other side of her brain and catharses words. Between revisions of "Brighter than Bright," a novel about love, insanity, and their improbable intersection, she blogs and strives to pen the perfect haiku.
20071009
Small White Pill
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
9 comments:
I love how the title hits you as an afterthought.
Great piece of writing.
I had the same afterthought as reginald. Nice 6S.
Phenomenal and powerful writing.
:)
i thought the same about the title.. that bowl of cold oatmeal feel.
Love the texture and contrasts in this 6S:
Cooing dove, whir of traffic, lonesome wail, ashen black and small white pill. Fabulous.
Linda's prose poetry is truly inspiring.
Linda can write (and she can write). Beautiful.
Hey all, thanks for reading and the encouragement. This was fun...
I love it! I had the same thought about the title, almost like it gives it texture. So complex and concise. Really beautiful.
Post a Comment