Tag Archives: #carrotranch

Not Me

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My heart races as the world closes in. Periphery blurring to gray as my jaw tightens. The room seemingly devoid of air. Fingertips numb and tingling, I clutch at the pain in my chest…

Embarrassed and disoriented, I wake to the voices of the paramedics. As I recover I downplay the significance but inside I’m freaking out. Could I have had a heart attack at 27?

After several hours in the ER, the doctor shares his diagnosis, “Your heart looks good, I suspect it was an anxiety attack.”

“Me, panic?” I reply. “Not a chance. You better check again.”

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A New Day

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Today.
A new day.
Starting over,
again.

It doesn’t matter.
I’ll continue,
day after day.
Hopeful,
this time will
be different.

It won’t,
I know better, but
I have to try.
If I don’t I’d be 
admitting defeat.

The sun rises –
and sets –
and rises –
and sets –

I wake up,
it’s still there.
In my chest,
in my bones.
Always there, like
background noise.

Still,
you haunt me.
I can’t,
I won’t,
let you go.

The new moon –
waxing –
full –
waning –

I close my eyes,
it’s still there.
Each heart –
beat / beat / beat
A reminder I’m
only half alive.

It should have
been me,
not you,
laid shallow (sigh)
on that hill.

The seasons –
Become years –
Strung into decades –
A lifetime –

Today.
A new day.
Starting over,
again.

Originally posted for critique at Carrot Ranch Literary Community‘s
Saddle Up Saloon: Anyone Can Poem with Chel Owens.
Photo credit: Brett Sayles via Pexels.
Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.

The Lost Craft

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Dale watched her grandfather rebuilding the lawnmower. Moments earlier the machine groaned as the blades crashed against the garden’s rocky edge.

“Pass the wrench.” Grandpa hollered.

Dale grabbed the tool from the kit running her hands along the time-weathered edges. She was certain her grandfather had taken this instrument into battle on many occasions.

The worn surfaces fit her grandfather’s hand perfectly. He wielded it with precision, as though it were an extension of his arm. Any hope the chores were done dashed as she supervised her Grandpa’s work. She knew the machine would be running in no time.

Written for Carrot Ranch Literary’s November 18 Flash Fiction Challenge. (Theme: Tools, Count: 99)
Photo credit: Oxa Roxa via Unsplash.
Copyright 2021 Greg Glazebrook, All Rights Reserved.