A Saint

Photo by Nicola Barts on Pexels.com

The old man sat crumpled on the ground and sipped something potent from a paper-bagged bottle in his hand. His eyes scanned the dimly lit street. “I tell you, none of us know who she is. But that girl comes around, you know? When the moon is full and there’s a ring around it.” He paused. “Like tonight.” He closed his eyes and licked his lips. The lips moved, R’s rolling like gentle waves when he spoke. His voice came from a place deep within, hard to pinpoint.

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com

“Florence. That’s what I call her. She’s a saint. The Virgin Mary herself, maybe.” He laughed gruffly. “She walks like a cat. Never hear a thing until she’s right up close to you. Right here, see?” He pointed to his scarred chin. “One night, a few years ago, I was settling down over there at the bus stop bench right across from Tony’s old food stand. You remember it? Before the police closed it down? I was trying to get some sleep. It was November, really cold then. I was shivering so much I couldn’t lie still, but I was too tired to move. From nowhere, from the darkness, she carried an old blanket. It was gray, thin wool, the kind you get from the army. But warm, you see? Warm. She gave it to me, put it right on me. Then she lit a candle, a plain white candle. Dripped some wax onto the sidewalk and stuck the candle there. She saved my life that night. That was the first time I ever saw her.”

He pulled the gray, wool blanket close around his brittle neck and shoulders.

“The others, they’ve seen her, too. Everybody who’s seen her on the street says she’s got a different face. Tito, he says she has a mole, right here on her left cheek. Says she’s fair-skinned. Hah! He likes his women pale.” He laughed. “Ya-hoo-hoo! White like a ghost!” The laugh became a cough. “Boy says she has long, straight, black hair,” he continued. “A skinny girl, not too bad-looking. But you know, she’s young. Sees what he wants to see.”

I looked up and down the street. “And you, what do you see?” I asked.

He put down his paper-bagged bottle and rubbed his stubbled face, like two pieces of sandpaper scraping together. His eyes watered slightly as he looked up into the moon. “An angel. An angel with my wife’s face. Ileana. So… beautiful. Not outside, no. Inside. She left me, you know? A long time ago. Took our children. Guess she’d had enough. Enough yelling. Enough losing money on the horses. I was a good man once, you know? But not good enough. She left when I hit her.” His dry hand moved across his stubble. “I would’ve left, too, if I’d been her.”

He was quiet then, his bottle hidden in the soiled, worn bag on the ground. I took it out in plain view. Whiskey, shimmering like coins in the moonlight. I took a turn and watched the moths dance around the streetlights. There were no churches, temples or synagogues. But something tangible electrified the air. Looking down into the dark, littered backalleys, I saw a point of light on the ground, tiny flames. Small trails of candle wax reflected moonlight and disappeared into doorways along the lengths of the buildings.

I eyed my friend, as he sat withering in his remorse, and pointed. “Florence?” I asked tentatively.

The old man looked up, shook his head. “No. That’s us. When there’s a ring around the full moon we light candles where we’ve seen her.” He took a deep, slow breath. “But she only visits the new men now. I’ve been told you only see her once, but I think I was lucky. Maybe she likes me.” He coughed again, tried to sit up.

“One night, I saw her again. The lights were on in a factory a few streets over. Very late. You know what they did there? The company that owns it is big. It has other stores all over. They always hire women: old, young, Filipino, Mexican, Chinese, Vietnamese, all kinds of illegal’s.  But never men. Those women, they work all day. I used to watch them sometimes. They’d be really tired when they came out. Hungry, too. Well, that night I saw an ambulance pull up. A woman was bleeding. She was pregnant and started bleeding. And the supervisor didn’t let her go until it was too late. After the ambulance took her away, he sent the other women home and stood there at the doorway, smoking. For a long time nothing happened. He looked like a dragon, smoke coming out of his nose and mouth. He finished a whole pack just standing there. And then I saw her, Florence, dressed in a nurse’s white uniform, the old fashioned kind with the pointy cap. She walked up to him and she spat in his face, something red. She lit her candle and left it there in that spot. Then she disappeared into the alley. There are no exits. It’s a dead end by that factory wall. That supervisor, he didn’t come back to work the next day, or the next. And eventually, the factory closed.

“That was the last time I saw Florence.”

Dreams

A voice washed over her
drowning out her senses,
swamping her brain
she was exhilarated, yet afraid.

Passionate feelings surged through her
she thought her heart would burst,
as the tide of his words flowed over her
she felt her strength, drained with each word.

As she sank to her knees
overwhelmed by love-drenched eyes,
she struggled against the hypnotic voice
it was too much, for her to bare.

She threw down her last threads of resistance
as she floated in a sea of words,
as the waves of his voice caressed her
any resistance, just floated away.

How long had she been dreaming?
rocked by the rhythm of his voice,
should I strike out, and take hold of reality
her captive heart cried out… just reel me in.

Temptation… A Price to Pay…

Mark’s time had come
when the gun went off,
and that burning feeling
spread through his body.

Evelyn his wife
stood over him,
with a smoking pistol
in her right hand.

She kneeled down beside him
you gave me no choice,
I couldn’t let you divorce me
and replace me with your mistress.

Moments later a stunned Mark
was pushed into buildings foundation,
followed by tons of cement
falling down upon him.

Temptation had been his downfall
and paid for it, with his life…

Anticipation…

Annette’s eyes flickered with desire
from closed eye lids.

A core ached with desire
one of suspense and anticipation.

His eyes passed over her
like a slow caress.

A shiver ran along her nerves
when he slowly caressed her.

Every bone in her body
turned to jelly with a kiss.

Lovestory! — radhikasreflection

My lonely heart flying solo in the blue yonder felt the expansive emptiness engulf me my lingering sighs, shushed by the gusty breeze. Until,  I saw you fly by me, my heart skipped a beat your ambrosial beauty painted a portrait of love beneath the panoramic sky, the winds now whispered romantic poetry. Wooing you […]

Lovestory! — radhikasreflection

My Wonderful Life — Walt’s Writings

My Wonderful Life I have lived a wonderful life and look forward to more wonderful years of life even though I have known great sadness in my 77 years the happiness has by far exceeded the sadness my years of wonder have outweighed my short times of sadness I have loved and been loved by […]

My Wonderful Life — Walt’s Writings

Creature Comforts

He kindly took me in
when I had nowhere to go,
for I had been driven out
by the family dog.

He gave me shelter
when it rained,
he gave me warmth
when it was cold.

He shared his salmon
when I was hungry,
he gave me milk
when I was thirsty.

I would sit upon his lap
and he would feed me chicken,
as he ate ice-cream
I would lick the carton.

I sunbathed amid the grasses
I slept under the pampas grass,
he made me feel safe
and I trusted him…

I never knew, life
could be so good,
as I fell asleep
in his arms…

Story Empire

Exploring the World of Fiction

Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

READER - WRITER - CURATED RESOURCES - & MORE

Walt's Writings

Poetry about Life, Love, Music by Walt Page, The Tennessee Poet

Fallen Angels

Poetry, fiction

A Love Story!

My hope, that you don’t just read the words; but that you would let the Words... Press, into your heart!

Daydreaming as a profession

Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.

Night Owl Poetry - Dorinda Duclos

"The silence of the night awakens my soul"

Rivers Renewed

Restoring and renewing our rivers through poetry and wordflow.

Daisy in the willows

Create* Connect* communicate* Collaborate*

Nin Chronicles

May the Words Flow

words less spoken

Gen X’er chronicles the art form of living in the Angelino metropolitan environment through poetry, creative writing, art, photography, and culture.

Ephemeral Elegies

The Poetry of Emotion

Kayfucius

A collective of thoughts, poetry, writing works, blurbs, and other randomosity

Regarding Samuel

Poetry and writings of Ethan S Bethune

A Writer's Path

Sharing writing tips, information, and advice.

What Inspires Your Writing?

A blog dedicated to writers...and the people, places, and things that spark their creativity

Cassandra Armstrong Writing

Poetry and other writings for the soul.

Manic Sylph Writes... Poetry & Thoughts by Mona Soorma

Poems, Writing Prompts, Interviews, Resources for Writers, Books, Poetry Reviews and more...

Heartstring Eulogies

Conjured by Sarah Doughty

Kate Bluett

liturgical poetry, writing, life

Rustin Larson

Poetry & Writing

Scribbled Thoughts

Fiction and poetry writing, recapturing the muse.

flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw

writing circles & poetry to keep your light on

Rijul Ballal

Writing, poetry and more writing.

The Pool Of Thoughts

Poetry, writing, photography, weirdness and all things creative!

This Engrained Heart

This engrained heart has connotations to emotions - an emotional and spiritual journey. Poetry, writing, performing and theatre are encompassed into my heart.

Fevers of the Mind

Writing, Poetry, Short Stories, Reviews, Art Contests

mistYmuse

Art, Poetry, Writing Winter Festival

Clear Wind Blows Over the Moon

Poetry, Writing, Art, Healing, Mindfulness and Idle No More

Develop. Inspire. Transform.

Poetry, writings, reflections, and contemplations on life, love, education, leadership, and personal and professional development.

Poet's Corner

Poems, poets, poetry, writing, poetry challenges

The Boy Behind The Glasses. Poetry and Writing

James Garratt - A life lived and recorded in ink since 1992

Charmed Chaos

Musings on Life, Love, and Linguine-Poetry & Writing

Amitav Chowdhury

Facets of Life- Poetry, Writing, Literature, and Philosophy

Visionary Poems

Thoughts-poetry on life, nature and spiritual

Utopia, you are standing in it!

Celebrating humanity's flourishing through the spread of capitalism and the rule of law

European Royal History

Exploring the History of European Royalty

a love for the written word

Recommendations of books old and new

THE SPECTACLED BEAN

Tales, Thoughts + Tribulations of a Free Spirit in Suburbia

Don MacIver, Poet

original contemporary works of poetry, prose, & lyrical verse; a celebration of literary & creative arts

Travel with Intent

A photographer's view of the world - words and images to inspire your travels and your dreams

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started
%d bloggers like this: