The island calls to me.

It whispers my name.

The bridge sighs.

It weeps for me.

I walk across.

It wobbles to and fro.

I hold tight to its ropes.

One step gives way

And then the next.

The sides unravel.

Time stands still.

I fall.

Icy water hits my face.

The silence surrounds me.





I’m having a bad dream,

no, maybe a nightmare,

of a washing machine.


It wakes me up at night.

It rumbles and whispers.

I hope it won’t take flight.


It’s moving and grooving

to a beat of its own,

that is far from soothing.


It’s a horrible sight.

A machine set to hard.

It’s ready for a fight.


I scream into my pillow.

“My clothing is all too clean,”

then I weep like a willow.


I’m over here.

I can smell your fear.

You won’t be alone.

I can hear your moan.


I’ll be rising soon.

On the next full moon.

We’ll rise from down under.

On lightning and thunder.


You will not recognize me.

I’ll be different you see.

My new body is strong.

Now do not get me wrong.


I still love you, my dear.

Of that please have no fear.


THE DEAD GAME continues



The island calls to me.

It whispers my name.

The bridge sighs.

It weeps for me.

I walk across.

It wobbles to and fro.

I hold tight to the ropes.

One step gives way.

And so does the next.

The sides unravel.

I can’t move.

Time stands still.

I’m falling.

Cold water hits my face.

Silence now takes it turn.


Epiphanie © Etienne Cabran


It’s here.

Too near.

A mist of white.

A sigh of night.

Through the window.

“You friend or foe?”

A cold touch of ice.

Doesn’t feel too nice.

It now whispers away,

“You’re not welcome to stay.”

I’m leaving now.

I don’t care how.

Fingers wrap around my neck.

On my cheek I feel a peck.

Could that be a kiss?

Wasn’t hard to miss.

I’m chilled to the bone.

I’ve turned to cold stone.



So alive.

I could hear you breathing.

Is that a moan?

Maybe it was the wind.

Is that a rustle of clothing?

Maybe someone else is in the garden.

Is that a sigh?

I heard a sigh.

Are you tired of standing still?

Is that a tear on your cheek?

Your eyes look sad.

Reflecting a remorse so deep

that I can feel it.

What else do I feel?

A whisper of breath on my face.

Are you breathing, dear one?

Are you alive beneath the stone?

Raise your head.

Look me in the eye.

It’s time to be free.

Let your soul be free

and soar above on your wings.

Take flight, dear one.

Take flight.



Linda entered Minnie & Frank’s Grocery Store, which shared a bright red-and-white awning with the sheriff’s office next door. The grocery had two large corner windows with dark green shading. She had never understood why each store had some kind of green tinting on its windows. Some stores had deeper tints than others: the grocery store, Hank’s auto shop, and Shirley’s store were more heavily tinted than the other stores along Main Street.
Frank was working the register, while his wife, Minnie, was trying to soothe their crying baby. The playpen was set up in the center of the store—right in the middle of the long aisles of food where customers browsed while having loud conversations. Watching the baby scream and wail at the top of her lungs, Linda couldn’t understand why the playpen hadn’t been placed farther back in the store, where it was much quieter.
Linda walked up to Frank. “Did you receive an invitation to the party at End House?”
While glancing back at Minnie, he answered as if he didn’t want Minnie to say anything, “No—we heard about it, but we aren’t invited.” Minnie added, “We have a baby anyway and it’s hard to go out at night.”
“Of course,” Linda replied. “How silly of me! I should have realized that you wouldn’t be able to go.”
Minnie moved closer. “Be careful…Don’t trust everything that you see.”
Linda couldn’t answer because Frank was monitoring their conversation and casting warning looks at Minnie. She almost ran out of the store. They were strange, and she never did like the sound of their baby’s high-pitched cry.