Let’s start off the weekend right, with a poem by our new fiction editor, David Field, 2015.

An Almost Visible Line

a glimpse of white

a girl with ashen hair rushes past,

her faded gray dress ten decades too late

I pause

pencil brushing against paper

watching as she slumps on the bench

and cries

her eyes tracing the stars

around her

stones are starting to gleam

age and mold retreating into nothing

flowers shrivel

while others burst into being

a shifting patch of color

the hedges shiver with voices

excited peals of laughter

bare feet padding on the grass

ancient chapel bells

hang above my head

their ethereal chiming

an echoing backdrop

to the constant sound of whiteness

whispering in my ear

I sit and stare

as memories spring to life

and I realize

there’s an almost visible line

keeping me from the past

but I can’t cross it

I can only watch

as the wind

drifts in circles

and time

flickers by

dancing

with the

mist

eventually a boy appears

sodden clothing as faded as hers

and he sits beside her weeping form

drawing her close

offering a gentle arm

which she takes with silent gratitude

the vision doesn’t last

soon their silhouettes grow murky

two bodies entwined in darkness

fireflies turning in the night

until there is nothing left

but the glow of their shadows

fading into memory

a glimpse of white

and the dream is gone