MOTHER
Have you ever been in debt beyond your ability to pay?
That's what I owed to my MOM!!!
First I took a life, then I got endless love, I got youth, health, a beautiful figure, and beauty...
How about a replacement??? Instead, I got on his nerves by being manly and capricious. And then I got all my black hair by talking about my ridiculous problems, pains, and expenses... In exchange for all that I got, my mother asked God in every prayer for me to laugh, not to feel pain, to be happy, not for herself...
My mother, what a miracle you are. We were happy for each age, not because you are getting older, but because my child is getting older. The only thing worth saying for what we have received from you is our love, we loved you very much. We can't pretend it's youth or stubbornness, but we love you so much, mom!
I asked God to stay with me all my life, bless us and make our lives beautiful. Today I praise God for creating me as your child, for giving me a mother like you... I'm fine... I'm fine Without MOTHER
Author Bakhora Bakhtiyorova Asliddin Daughter
Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of the Peace Corps memoir “Fiesta of Sunset,” and his debut poetry collection is due out later this year.
Grandma’s Shoes
My seventy-two-year-old grandma is coming home from the rehab facility today in her terry cloth slippers.
When mom and I arrived at Caring Touch Health & Rehabilitation at ten o’clock on a sunny June morning to pick her up, grandma was sitting in a chair in her room, fully dressed, pocketbook in her lap, and a plastic bag labeled “patient’s belongings” on the floor beside her.
“Grandma, where are your shoes?” I asked, searching through her closet and drawers.
She shrugged and looked down at her pink, open-toed slippers. “I asked two aides,” she said. “They couldn’t find them anywhere.”
I stepped out into the hallway. A few feet from grandma’s room, an aide was filling a cart with bottles of shampoo and lotions, tubes of toothpaste, and other toiletries. She wore maroon scrubs and white sneakers, and her long black hair was pinned up on top of her head. She had large hoop earrings, a cross on a gold chain around her neck, and long nails painted a dark blue.
“Excuse me, Ruby,” I said, reading from the aide’s name tag. “Would you please bring my grandmother her shoes.”
“They disappeared,” she said, without looking up from the cart.
“Shoes don’t disappear,” I said, emphasizing the words “don’t” and “disappear.” “Obviously, someone took them.”
“You can file a lost item report with Patient Services,” Ruby said, still filling the cart.
I glanced over at the nurses’ station. My mother was talking to the discharge nurse, so I went back to grandma’s room.
“I’m upset about your shoes, grandma. It angers me that someone would take something belonging to a patient.”
“Don’t worry about the shoes, Allison. I have others at home.”
“But they were your favorite. You’ve had them for years. How many times has mom taken them to the shoemaker for repairs? You’ve had the heels replaced, the bottoms resoled, and the stitching resewn, many times.”
Grandma smiled. “I did like them. They were so comfortable. I could walk in them for hours.”
I looked into grandma’s sparkling blue eyes. “They were a part of you.”
***
When we got home, my mother made lunch, and then grandma took a nap. An hour later, she awakened, put on her black pumps, and informed us that she was going for a walk. Grandma particularly liked to walk up Sixth Avenue to Bleeker Street and then over to Abington Square Park. Whenever I walked with her, it took us about forty minutes because grandma stopped a few times to rest. Sometimes, she went to the library to view the newly acquired fiction titles and to read magazines. Other times, she stopped in the stores along Sixth Avenue to browse. On those days, she often came home with a surprise for me—a shirt, a pair of jeans, or some earrings. She took the item out of the bag with a dramatic flair and waited to see my expression. If I exclaimed “I love it,” and rushed to try it on, grandma knew I’d keep it, but if I politely said, “Thank you, grandma,” she said, “Allison, I’ll take it back and get you something else.”
***
Later that afternoon, when grandma returned from her walk, she was limping.
“What happened?” I asked, taking her arm and helping her to the couch.
“My feet started to hurt as soon as I got to the corner.”
I removed her shoes and saw that her pinky toes were red and blistered, and there was raw skin on the backs of her heels.
“I haven’t worn these shoes in so long. I like them, but I forgot how uncomfortable they are.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said and brought her a basin with warm water and Epsom salts.
***
After breakfast the next morning, grandma put Band-Aids on her toes and the backs of her heels and wore a different pair of shoes. We left together, and she insisted on walking with me a few blocks to the university. She was already limping, even after walking only the short distance. It didn’t surprise me that even though her feet ached, grandma would not allow herself to be deterred. As a young child in Hungary, she had walked barefoot for miles on long dirt and pebbled roads every day from her small village to get to the one-room schoolhouse, three villages away. I suspect it was during those years that grandma learned how to withstand pain.
“I can see your feet are hurting,” I said and kissed her goodbye. “Maybe you should go back home.”
“I’ll be okay, honey. I’m not going far.”
***
It was almost five o’clock when I got home from the university, and grandma was sitting in the recliner in the living room, feet up, and stockings off, reading the newspaper.
“How were your classes?” she asked.
“Good,” I said, and walked over to give her a kiss. I looked at her red and swollen feet.
“They must hurt a lot,” I said.
“Not as much as yesterday.”
“Walking in those shoes can’t be any good on your knees, either.” Grandma had spent six weeks recuperating at the rehab facility after knee replacement surgery and a subsequent infection. At the time of her discharge, the physical therapist had reviewed with her some home exercises, and the doctor had emphasized the importance of walking every day to regain her strength and improve her mobility. It infuriated me that grandma was not able to do what she needed to, to aid her recovery just because an employee at the facility, entrusted with her care, took advantage of her. How could an employee do this? From where did the person get this feeling of entitlement?
“Mom said she’s trying to get you an appointment with a podiatrist. It’s ridiculous that you can’t wear any shoes but the ones that were taken. I’m sure the podiatrist will be able to suggest the right shoes.”
Grandma stayed home for the next few days to rest her feet.
***
I was in my room studying for a chemistry exam the following Wednesday evening when grandma came home, carrying a shopping bag.
“I had an appointment with the foot doctor,” she said, taking a seat in the kitchen. “He’s wonderful. Filed down my corns. Then showed me on his computer the styles of shoes I should wear that won’t aggravate my hammertoes and bunions,” she said, bending down and removing the shoes she was wearing. “I was so excited to purchase new shoes that I took the bus to Macy’s. Oh my! So many beautiful shoes… And some ugly ones, too.”
“Show me what you bought,” I said, peering into the bag at her feet.
Grandma took out a box and showed me a pair of textured black pumps.
The shoes had a good arch, a low, wide heel, and a non-skid sole. “They’re very pretty.”
“And so comfortable. Just like my old shoes.”
Then she reached into the bag and removed another box. “I can wear the black ones and these beige ones through the fall,” she said.
“These are beautiful, too,” I said. The shoes were open-toed, a combination of woven leather and suede, had a strap across the top, and a wedge heel.
“I think I’ll wear these when I go for my walk, tomorrow. At my checkup next month. I’m
sure the doctor will be surprised at how quickly I’m recovering.”
***
When I got home the following evening, grandma was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
“Your mother is working late tonight, so I cooked for us,” she said, turning off a burner and placing chicken, broccoli, and roasted potatoes on our plates.
I washed my hands and sat down at the table.
“Did you have the chemistry test today?” grandma asked.
“I did. Lots of formulas and some tough questions, but I think I did well.”
I reached for a roll. “I’ve been wondering how you feel about what happened to your shoes.”
Grandma looked up from her plate. “It would never occur to me to take anything that didn’t belong to me. Honestly, I’m surprised that anyone would do that. Maybe they really did get lost.”
“I’m thinking of telling administration know what happened.”
“Don’t make a fuss, Allison. If someone took the shoes, they must have really needed them.”
“Maybe, or maybe not.”
“I have new ones. It’s just that I really liked those.”
I shook my head. “It incenses me!”
“Enough of this talk about shoes. I had a wonderful walk this morning. The sun was out, and it was not too hot. I stopped in the bakery and bought two pounds of fancy Italian cookies for the staff at Caring Touch. They were good to me. I want to show my appreciation.”
“That’s very thoughtful,” I said, lifting the cover and looking inside the box. There were cookies filled with jelly and dusted with confectioner’s sugar, tri-colored and meringue cookies,
dark chocolate covered rolled wafers, and other confectionery delights. I helped myself to a rolled wafer.
“Delicious.”
“I’m going to deliver this tomorrow morning,” grandma said, closing the box and moving the cookies to a nearby counter.
“I’ll go with you. I only have one class in the late afternoon.”
***
After breakfast, grandma and I took the bus to the rehab facility. The floor where she had stayed was busy when we arrived. Patients using crutches and rollators walked up and down the floor, aides by their sides. Near the exit, at the end of the hall, a physical therapist supervised a woman with ankle weights who was struggling to lift her legs. At the nurses’ station, two nurses updated patients’ charts and answered phones that rang incessantly, while a third dispensed medicine into small paper cups. Nearby, Ruby re-stocked a cart with toiletries, and another aide loaded a second cart with folded white towels.
Grandma and I went up to the aides and chatted for a bit, then walked over to the nurses’ station.
One of the nurses looked up when we approached.
“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said. “How are you doing?”
“I’m good. Doing my exercises and walking almost every day.”
“And taking your medicine?”
Grandma smiled. “Of course. I’m an obedient patient.” She placed the box of cookies on the counter. “Brought these for the staff. A little something to thank all of you for everything.”
“How sweet, Mrs. Sullivan,” the nurse said, opening the box. “Ooh. I love these with the
jelly filling. Think I’ll have one right now.”
A few minutes later, Ruby and the other aide scanned the assortment like children in a candy store, trying to decide what to buy. Ruby took a rolled wafer and a tri-colored cookie and then looked to a woman in a floral blouse, navy skirt, and light sweater, and red lipstick whose grey curls peeked out from under a wide- brimmed red hat. The woman appeared to be older than grandma and was sitting alone on a couch near the nurses’ station.
“Want a cookie?” Ruby asked.
The woman nodded. Grandma and I sat down on the couch next to her.
“I’m Margaret Sullivan,” grandma said to the woman, “and this is Allison, my granddaughter.”
“Good to meet you both. My name is Rosemary Cancel.”
Ruby brought the woman some cookies wrapped in a napkin and then turned to address grandma. “Mrs. Sullivan, this is my mother, Rosemary,” she said. “She came to have lunch with me.”
“We just introduced ourselves,” grandma said, “but I didn’t know you were her daughter.”
I nudged grandma, then moved closer to whisper in her ear. “Look at Rosemary’s shoes,”
I said.
Grandma glanced at Rosemary’s feet.
“I like your shoes,” she said.
Rosemary smiled. “Thank you. Ruby gave them to me. They’re not new, but they are extremely comfortable.”
“Would you mind if I had a look?” I asked and extended my hand.
Rosemary slipped off her right shoe and handed it to me. I looked at the underside of the tongue and saw Margaret Sullivan written with black marker. I had labeled all of grandma’s clothing and personal items when she was first admitted to the facility. I moved over to show her where I had printed her name and then returned the shoe to Rosemary.
“It’s so important to have shoes that fit well,” I said. “It looks like these have gotten a lot of wear. I hope you enjoy them.”
I got up and walked over to Ruby who was now standing at the nurses’ station.
“Excuse me, Ruby. I noticed that your mother is wearing my grandmother’s shoes.”
Ruby said nothing, but the nurses raised their heads, looking first at me and then at Ruby.
“You stole from my grandmother, and on top of that, you lied to both of us when we asked you about the shoes,” I said, glaring at her. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Ruby was trying to turn away, but my angry stare followed her.
“Have you taken things from other residents? From your colleagues?” I asked. “I’m sure this facility doesn’t want a thief working here. I’m going to report you to the administration.”
Ruby still didn’t say anything.
“You sent an elderly woman home in her slippers! Tell me, don’t you feel bad about what you did?”
Ruby nodded, then turned her back to me and walked away.
As grandma and I went to the elevator, grandma said, “Don’t report her, Allison. She probably doesn’t get paid much, and I’m sure she needs her job. She might be supporting her mother. I think what’s important is that you let her know that we know what she did. Maybe that’s enough to make her think about her actions.”
***
One afternoon, a week later, grandma’s shoes arrived in the mail with a note from Ruby: “Dear Mrs. Sullivan,
I am sorry for taking your shoes. I never did this before. My mother has problems with her feet. It is hard to find shoes. Your shoes were right size and comfortable. Please forgive me.”
I laughed softly. “I guess we got through to Ruby, grandma.”
“It’s amazing. I didn’t think I’d ever see these shoes again,” grandma said, looking them over as if she was considering a potential purchase.
“And now you have three pairs of comfortable shoes.”
“Let’s go to Caring Touch on Friday. I’d like to give one of the new pairs to Ruby, for her mother.”
-end-
Carol Pierce was born and raised in New York City. She holds a B.A. in English, an M.S.Ed.in Special Education, and a Professional Certificate in Supervision and Administration from Hunter College. She was a teacher and Assistant Principal with the NYC Department of Education for more than 20 years.An emerging writer, Carol enjoys the power of words and writing short stories that transport readers to other worlds. Her stories have appeared in Drunk Monkeys, The Write Launch, Griffel, and in Twist & Twain. In addition to writing, Carol enjoys swimming and researching her Hungarian roots.
AFTER DUE DELIBERATION
Judgment's in jeopardy.
Is life's course set by lot
or random liberty?
The witness may be blind,
your expert, a crackpot.
Judge may be enlightened,
the courthouse, a glory;
your lawyer, a prophet--
but trial, a folly.
The plaintiff shows a smile,
and then the posture shifts
and offers up a tail.
That one in the mirror
poses for the verdict
by you, biased juror.
Above becomes below.
As recent as Egypt.
As old as tomorrow.
WHY TROJAN WARS ARE FUTILE
Not every odyssey
ends
with Penelope
or begins
with a Helen.
WHEN I EPITAPHED
The sun rose early
yesterday
but I was desked
already
and was still tasked
long after clockout.
My silver mistress
so patiently
outside waited,
ready
with her scimitar.
At low noon today
I heard the birds roar,
and the sun mooned
then faded,
and I joined the black,
and my lungballoons
outflated.
I realized that
I can glory
in my infirmities
no longer.
My frail shelters
of excuse
and procrastination
collapsed
at last.
Nowandnowandnow
this body of my death
waits
to evacuate.
[S]WORD[S]
Words penetrate my hold.
Can words tarnish my gold?
Words may be truth or not.
They never bruised a rock
or injured a breeze
or fractured a river
or shivered a tree,
But I know words have mocked
thoughts about my needs,
my strength of character,
the essence of Me.
Words have damaged my household
and poisoned my soul.
TONGUE AND THUMB
We’ll lie electric in our own synapses
until the thumb of my soul can feel you
and you taste me with your innermost tongue
+
Even on a Bad Day
Good process teaches
the Heart the way
for none evaporate
the Broth of Gift's
Comforts
Bring me my Love
I know I AM worthy
Even on a Sad Stray
the Left Behind are Lifted
in sight
the Merits of Life
Trust
My Eyes
touch
Fresh
Glances
of Light
for me touch
that I may know
I AM not Separated
Divine Trust
invisible
Yet still on the way
♡
............
by John Edward Culp
Morning of August 17, 2023
ALGUIEN OBSERVANDO
Te he observado espiar tras las cortinas,
con la mirada perdida en algún horizonte,
devorando a otras gentes tan indiferentes
que machacan veredas sólo por costumbre.
He notado la inquietud de tus pupilas,
con manos crispadas por tanta impotencia,
y un suspiro profundo empaño los cristales,
sin poder destruirlos como hubieras deseado.
Te he visto observar desde tu fortaleza,
con frente sudorosa y aspecto cansino,
bebiendo la brisa que obsequia la noche,
sin penas ni glorias, solo por destino.
He descifrado de pronto tus dudas y temores,
náufrago del llanto que abraza la impaciencia,
soñando una isla sin tesoros ni puertos,
y miles de gaviotas de incesante vuelo.
Te he visto observar hacia mi ventana,
papel y lápiz en mano, escribiéndome algo,
y dudé entonces si en verdad existías
o un gigantesco espejo pendía del cielo.—
-----------
SOMEONE WATCHING
I've watched you peek behind the curtains
with the gaze lost in some horizon,
devouring other people so indifferent
who crush sidewalks just out of habit.
I have noticed the restlessness of your pupils,
with hands clenched by so much impotence,
and a deep sigh fogged the windows,
without being able to destroy them as you would have wished.
I have seen you watch from your fortress,
With a sweaty brow and a weary look,
drinking the breeze that gives the night,
Without sorrows or glories, only by destiny.
I have suddenly deciphered your doubts and fears,
castaway of tears that embraces impatience,
dreaming of an island without treasures or ports,
and thousands of seagulls of incessant flight.
I have seen you look towards my window,
paper and pencil in hand, writing something to me,
And then I doubted if you really existed
or a gigantic mirror hung from the sky.—
BREVE BIOGRAFÍA de:
Prof. Gustavo Marcelo GALLIANO
Nacido en Gödeken, Santa Fe, República Argentina. Escritor, poeta, Jurado en certámenes literarios Internacionales. Periodismo digital. Docente Universitario de la Facultad de Derecho de la UNR, en la asignatura Historia Constitucional Argentina. Miembro del CICSO (Centro de investigaciones en Ciencias Sociales). Secretario Técnico de REDIM.
Se ha desempeñado como Corresponsal Especial en diversas revistas internacionales de Arte y Literatura (Cañ@santa, Sinalefa, ViceVersa, Long Island al Día, RosannaMúsica, etc).
Integra la Red de Escritores en Español (REMES), Poetas de Mundo, Unión Hispano-Mundial de Escritores (UHE), la Fundación César Égido Serrano, Naciones Unidas de las Letras (Ave Viajera y Proyecto Mundial Semillas de Juventud), entre otras. Actualmente es colaborador especial de Revista Poética AZAHAR (España), Revista Literaria-artístico PLUMA y TINTERO (España), Revista Literaria KENAVÒ (Italia) y Revista OFRANDA LITERARA (Rumania) donde también integra el Colegio Editorial.
Ha obtenido distinciones y premios en certámenes y concursos internacionales de cuentos, narrativa, micro relato y poesía. Publicó libros (LA CITA, 5 AUTORES) y participe de antologías y revistas publicadas y traducidas en más de 100 países.
Ha sido designado como Embajador de la Palabra y la Paz por diversas instituciones: WWPO (USA), Círculo de Embajadores Universales de la Paz (Francia / Suiza), Fundación César Égido Serrano y Museo de la Palabra (España).
Reside en Rosario, Santa Fe, República Argentina.
BRIEF BIOGRAPHY of:
Prof. Gustavo Marcelo GALLIANO
Born in Gödeken, Santa Fe, Argentine Republic. Writer, poet, jury in international literary contests. Digital journalism. University Professor at the Faculty of Law of the UNR, in the subject Argentine Constitutional History. Member of CICSO (Social Sciences Research Center). REDIM Technical Secretary.
He has worked as a Special Correspondent for various international Art and Literature magazines (Cañ @ santa, Sinalefa, ViceVersa, Long Island al Día, RosannaMúsica, etc).
She is a member of the Red de Escritores en Español (REMES), Poetas de Mundo, Union Hispano-Mundial de Escritores (UHE), the César Égido Serrano Foundation, the United Nations of Letters (Ave Viajera and the World Seeds of Youth Project), among others. Currently he is a special contributor to AZAHAR Poetic Magazine (Spain), PLUMA and TINTERO Literary-artistic Magazine (Spain), KENAVÒ Literary Magazine (Italy) and OFRANDA LITERARA Magazine (Romania) where he is also a member of the Editorial College.
He has obtained distinctions and prizes in international contests and contests for short stories, narrative, short story and poetry. He published books (LA CITA, 5 AUTORES) and participated in anthologies and magazines published and translated in more than 100 countries.
He has been designated as Ambassador of the Word and Peace by various institutions: WWPO (USA), Circle of Universal Ambassadors of Peace (France / Switzerland), César Égido Serrano Foundation and Museum of the Word (Spain).
He resides in Rosario, Santa Fe, Argentine Republic.
