This place is nice enough, but it’s not my home. I think I’m on arrest. My wife surely hung some photos on these walls; she surely did, but where are they? Where is she? Room 222. Where is she? I smell dinner cooking, so I look for Mabel in the kitchen. A nice enough woman serves me meat and potatoes, saying, “There’s going to be a full moon tonight, George.”
“You don’t say?” I gum lumps of potatoes in my mouth.
Perhaps this is the same woman who helps me up from the table and to my room. There is something familiar about her. I love this woman and my eyes tear involuntarily. Good women are hard to find. She lays me down to rest and says, “Bath time is in the morning.”
“You don’t say.” I rest my bones on a twin mattress as the sun pulls the earth to itself like a blanket.
“Goodnight, George.” The door shuts, and Mabel’s voice vanishes.
I turn my head to the window where hummingbirds gather. With eyes wide open, I’m caught between worlds. Sweet nectar, sweet woman, sweet night. Lilacs are in bloom. I am restless in the light of the moon, or is it the sun? I must undress for bath time, I think. Yes, I will undress. A bath will put me at ease.
caught between the sun
and moon, Christmas and July,
I flounder for her
~photo prompt courtesy of Penny. I’ll be out all week, or 6 moons and 6 suns, so will miss reading all the other entries until Saturday. Please accept my apologies for not responding to comments until then…but please…still leave your comments!