Her Sister’s Funeral

On the day of her sister’s funeral, long after the service, Bailey sat in the rain while the workmen backfilled Emily’s grave. In deference to Bailey, the men said nothing. Only their shovels made whispering sounds as they moved the soil. Four dozen metal folding chairs had been set up to accommodate the mourners but they were now empty and slick and shiny with the rain. Bailey watched plumes of her frosty breath as she exhaled on the frigid February afternoon.

How could Emily have died, wondered Bailey for the hundreth time. She had been only seventeen, two years younger than Bailey, and an honors student in her high school, where she had been a senior. In just three months, Emily would have graduated and joined her sister at college. She had planned to study nursing, like Bailey.

But Bailey knew exactly how her sister had died. She had accepted a ride on the back of her mother’s boyfriend, Chris’s motorcycle. Emily was afraid of motorcycles and absolutely refused to ride them. Unlike Bailey, Emily was rather timid. And Chris, Bailey knew, was forever on Emily’s back to “open up” and “experience life” and all that nonsense. He was always trying to change the girls into something resembling their mother, she supposed. What was up with that?

Chris had seemed alright, a good companion to their mother and he hadn’t been a bad guy.  He had a sort of endearing goofiness. He was tall and had coarse red hair and a really ugly red beard and Clark Kent glasses. When he and Mom were going out, he’d say stuff like, “Don’t smoke crack” and “Don’t burn the house down.”

He had finally convinced her little sister to ride along with him and then, on icy streets, Chris was showing off on his bike, taking turns too fast, and the bike spilled over. Emily’s helmet wasn’t fastened properly–and that too was Chris’s fault–and it came off when she fell. She struck her head on the pavement. It was horrible.  At the funeral home they had had a closed casket.

Chris had barely a scratch, but Bailey’s precious sister and best friend, was killed instantly. Her mother was stricken, but she never blamed Chris, maintaining that it was a “call from God.”  What bullshit, thought Bailey bitterly. She knew who was responsible. Damn him. And Chris and her mom were set to get married after Emily left for school, and finally settle down, but for Bailey, things would never, ever be the same again.  

Bailey hated Chris and by extension her mother, his enabler, his apologist, his piece of ass! Bailey shook her head. She could never go back to that house. It was no longer her home.  Chris had practically taken over, insinuating himself into their lives over the past three years. He had already driven her brother Brandon from the home. Two years older than Bailey, he was living across town with his girlfriend. Bailey would catch her train for school tonight and never return. She was on a full scholarship and didn’t need anything from them. She wouldn’t even say good-bye, she vowed. The wind was stirring; Bailey felt cold and she huddled closer inside her jacket.

She dissolved in tears, her rage giving way to sorrow. She had thought she was cried out. Everyone cried, all the time. Except for Chris. She hadn’t seen him shed a single tear and worse, he had never taken responsibility for the accident; he’d never once even said he was sorry! For that she couldn’t, wouldn’t forgive him. Ever. And dismay gave way to anger once more. She looked up suddenly and there, pinioned against the darkening sky, like a statue, stood a man, tall, in a green Army jacket and with coarse red hair, a really ugly red beard: Chris.  

“Bailey?” he said softly. She turned away. He stood before her.  

“What do you want, Chris?” she spat bitterly.

“I came for you; your mom’s worried,” he replied.

“I don’t care,” she said harshly. “I hate you!” She bared her teeth.

“I know,” he said quietly. “So do I.”

She startled a little, looked up at him suspiciously.

“Ever since the accident,” he added, I’ve hated everything about myself.”

“Are you going to get your bike fixed?” she asked with a touch of cruelty.

He shook his head no. “No,” he replied, “even sad old dogs like me can learn new tricks. I just pray it’s not too late.”

“Don’t worry, Mom’s forgiven you already,” she said spitefully.

“She knows I’d never purposely do anything to hurt someone she loved. Someone I love.”

She glanced quickly up at him again. “You really do love her, don’t you, Chris?” she asked, almost desperately.  

“I love you all,” he answered. “And I loved Emily. And Bailey:  I. Am. So. Sorry!”

She peered closely at him.  There were tears swimming in his sky-blue eyes, which were easily his best feature. Bailey took a deep, shuddering breath, and said, “I believe you, Chris.”

With tears continuing to fall from his eyes, he held out his big hand. “Let’s go home, Bailey.”  They walked, hand in hand, from the cemetery just as the light rain transformed into large, beautiful flakes of snow.

Bailey and her mother Sue didn’t speak about Emily or Chris for the next week.  

Bailey finally had to know. “Mom, did you and Chris break up?”

“No,” said Sue, “but he said he needed some time.  It was hard for him to face me.”

“Do you want him back, Mom?”

“Bailey, you don’t know how much I depend on him.”

Bailey didn’t respond, but called Chris the next day.  Chris came over within the hour.

“Bailey told me you missed me, Sue,” Chris told his girlfriend.  “You have no idea how much I missed you.  I thought after what happened, you’d never want to see me again.”

“I need you more than ever, Chris, replied Sue.  “I just hope if all of us stick together we can get through this as a family.”

“Before this happened I wanted to marry you,” Chris said. “I still do, but I don’t know what Bailey thinks.  She may not want me around.”

“Chris, it’s enough for me to know that it’s what Mom wants,” Bailey told Chris when he put the question to her later.  “I think we’ll all be better together.”

Without another word, Sue called Brandon.  “What would you think of Chris as a stepfather?” she asked her son.

“Come on, mom, you know I always liked him.” 

Chris, listening on the extension, smiled with relief.

Chris and Sue got married by a justice of the peace the next day with just immediate family and Brandon’s girlfriend, who was flower girl.     

Quiet Devastation

Oppressive delusions

Begin to serenade the mind.

Backward glances– unfinished —

Blur as visions whirl with pleasure.

In a sky transfigured

Transparent and wavering

Memories of water evaporate–

Damp hands summon quiet remorse.

Alchemy mutates a life of meaning

Into splintered icons beneath the Earth.

Somewhere a telephone rings,

Whisperwood 

The forest closes like a book,
each tree a story I cannot read.
The path dissolves into moss,
soft and secretive underfoot,
while shadows stretch long fingers
to tangle my thoughts.  

The trees do not ask,
nor the rivers accuse;
they only carry me forward,
their silence a solace
as I learn to wander,
to trust the song of the unmarked trail. 

Unsettled

My reflection blinks one heartbeat late,

Caught in the death dream.

It lifts a hand-

Not mine-

Fingers dripping, spelling my name backwards

On the inside of my vision.

Leaning toward the glass that leans back hungrily,  

I try to step away; the mirror whispers:

You are the echo I invited

To keep from being alone.

Leaving the Modern World 

I am learning to sit in silence, 

To find the divine in the ordinary: 

The creak of a chair, 

tick of the clock, 

The rhythm of my own heartbeat.  

The modern world will not stop me;  

I will stop for myself.  

Carl Scharwath has appeared globally with 210+ publications selecting his writing or art. Carl has published five poetry books and four photography books. He was nominated with four The Best of the Net Awards (2022-25) and two different 2023 Pushcart Nominations for poetry and a short story.

actualizing the 'evening' answer
to The Riddle of the Sphinx


     *


what I heard was not what was being said


     *



he'd spit in his own Pepsi, if you ask for a sip


     *


aisle seat for the sorrowful ballet


     *


not in the script, the gull that flew past the bay window


     *


my incessant blathering wore out 
her hammer, anvil and that other bone
I can never remember


     *


limping toward unknown archipelagos
with a notebook and two childhood prayers


     *


brown blood in the hambone
and the first-class relic


     *


words everywhere, the oceanic fears of the illiterate


     *


maybe Gutei just needed a minute to think


     *


he's where it widens and slows with Sarah Vaughan


     *


it's hard to be alone in the hereafter

A film project on film history legend Billy Wilder

Victoria Wilder, his daughter, was awarded the “Courage for Freedom Award”

I met Billy Wilder with Gloria Swanson in Hollywood on my birthday, January 24, 1974.

I told him that I had postponed my first meeting in Rome with Federico Fellini, scheduled for the same day.

Billy Wilder observed me carefully, as if his eyes were a camera: he wanted to understand my true essence, revealing an urgency, since, perhaps, he wanted to be the first great director to discover me, before my meeting with Fellini.

Wilder had filmed, only two years earlier, “Avanti!” with Jack Lemmon, his first film in Italy, in Ischia and Sorrento, and since I was Italian by birth, the conversation shifted to this film, but without Wilder giving up on his intention to decode my essence, with his increasingly “investigative” gaze.

Although very young, I had a fairly precise idea of ​​what elements of my personality interested Wilder and which later interested Fellini.

In this scenario, Gloria Swanson had limited herself to mentioning Marlene Dietrich, who had introduced us.

We were at Paramount Pictures, and can you imagine that nothing happened related to the famous scene in “Sunset Boulevard” in which everyone recognizes “Norma Desmond,” the “forgotten” silent film diva played by Swanson in Wilder’s film? 

Something quite similar to that scene happened, due to Swanson’s long absence from Paramount, including that of Wilder, whose last film with Paramount Pictures had been “Sabrina” with Bogart, Hepburn and Holden, ending a 12-year business relationship between him and the company.

Some people waved at Wilder and Swanson from a distance, and while Swanson reacted almost “without reacting,” Wilder responded to the greetings, without taking his eyes off me, to explore my slightest reaction. 

And I couldn’t help but utter this sentence: “I’ll tell Fellini about what’s happening here now, but after we’ve known each other for a while.” 

Wilder understood the “chess move” I had made and extended his hand towards mine, appreciating the ambiguous “subtlety” of my statement.

Swanson, expected this reaction from Wilder, observed everything with detachment and a certain irony.

A few days ago, Victoria Wilder, Wilder’s daughter, pointed out a very important detail about her father: she told me that her father always appreciated being recognized and greeted, even though this was inevitable due to his enormous fame.

In short, this aspect of fame never bothered him.

The scene in the Paramount Studio from his film “Sunset Boulevard” was always within him, and Wilder deliberately made that scene immortal, since, I understood, it embodied himself and the essence of cinema. 

During the truly incessant greetings from the Paramount staff, being Italian, I was offered a “cappuccino,” and Wilder, in response to what I had said earlier, told me: “Federico, Fellini will immediately adore you if you ask him for a ‘cappuccino ‘ because you’ve created a scene that, if I had seen it, I would have included in ‘Sunset Boulevard’ . Yes, from how you picked up the cup, to when you brought it to your mouth to sip the ‘cappuccino’.”

Obviously, we all laughed.

Beneath that sentence, there was something much broader, which I will include in the film about him. Yes, I am proposing to make a film about Wilder, since I am building a mosaic with the pieces of memories I have of him, added to what Victoria Wilder told me about her father a few days ago, on my birthday. 

Victoria Wilder , introduced to me by Lady Silvia Gardin , was delighted to receive the “Courage for Freedom” award from my hands, created by Francesco Garibaldi, a descendant of the hero Garibaldi, which commends Mrs. Victoria, a great collage artist, for having had the tenacity and perseverance to collect rare and precious testimonies about her father, the only one who had the courage to reveal the true identity of the Olympus of fame: Hollywood.

But there is very important news that has just recently emerged: after the death of actor Gianfranco Barra, part of the cast of Wilder’s film “Avanti,” the only Wilder film shot in Italy, the entire film archive was given by Barra’s heirs to Graziano Marraffa, president of the Italian historical film archive.

This archive contributes to the rediscovery of the celebrated director and gives more urgency to my initiative to make a film about him, which, by depicting Hollywood, clearly illustrates the dangers faced by anyone who falls victim to the most popular obsession of our times: fame.

Engagement and Disillusionment 

Engaged here means the engagement of the mind with the mind. In order to keep the engagement of the mind with the mind intact, it is important to be happy with your mind. Despondency is despair, grief, heartbreak.          

In the case of engagement, if the mind’s desire is fulfilled, if the mind does not get hurt, sorrow, or suffering, the mind is right. The attention is the same remains A close connection of mind with mind keeps the focus fixed. Enthusiasm increases in the mind, it remains cheerful. Therefore, there is no need to grieve, nor to suffer. You have to keep going, seeing that the cut does not open in the mind and feet. No one can be given a place to occupy the mind. You have to move forward in connection with your own existence. Therefore, the power of the mind is very important.  Flowers should be kept in care. The juice will be in the mind, let the mind move like that. Mind connection provides the juice to move forward in life.

Understanding of mind and spirit with mind. Persistence, hope, desire, self-strength, mental strength move the mind forward. From connected thoughts, one has to increase concentration and move forward in life. Sparkling, shining light keeps life in full flow. All is the result of mind freshness. Intelligence and mental connection with the mind, kinship of one’s own soul with one’s own soul can keep oneself in order, must reach the right goal.              

Despondency means to be broken, hopeless. The mind is burdened with pain – it increases the sickness of the mind. The mind breaks down, becomes useless. The distance between the mind and the mind increases. The connection between the mind is lost. There will be both engagement of the mind and disorientation in life. But if you give importance or keep alive the depression Mind will be hurt, mind power and self-power will be lost. Which is very bad for everyone. Even if you are depressed, you should do what you need to do. You should see your dreams.          

Symptoms of depression or anxiety:

1. First understand yourself – I have suffered, I am suffering. 2. Loss of enthusiasm for work or creative work. 3. No way forward. Signs of getting out of depression: 1. To identify the pain of the mind, find out the cause. 2. To find a way to shake off or erase the pain of the mind. 3. Staying away from those people who have caused grief. 4.Walk and talk in such a way that no one gets hurt. 5. Talking and discussing the matter with a close person if necessary. 6. Dancing-reciting-pictures-art- listening to music, creative work including yoga and joining social service work.

7. Persistence, strength, patience and courage to make new plans and move forward, to overcome adversity. 8. Mental preparation is always necessary. I will be fine. I will be strong in any situation, my actions I will take it forward. 9. I will not let injustice happen to me. I have to protest for injustice. Sometimes I have to fight silently. 10. Even if you are disappointed, you have to give yourself hope. Must go to work. 11. Stay away from negative thoughts and activities. 12. It is one’s duty and duty to mend one’s broken heart. 13. Have confidence and trust in yourself.              

Both good and bad are in our hands there is self-view, self-action, consideration, self-perception, Dreaming, thinking, choosing direction, staying positive is all is in good standing.   

Amb. Dr. Priyanka Neogi is from Coochbehar. She is an administrative controller of United Nations’ PAF, a librarian, a CEO of Lio Messi International Property & Land Consultancy, international literacy worker, sports & peace promoter, dancer, singer, reciter, live telecaster, writer, editor, researcher, literary journalist, host, beauty queen, international co-ordinator of the Vijay Mission of Community Welfare Foundation of India.

My Migrant Father

Though labor weighs him down with strain,

He says, “If it is honest, that’s my gain.”

He lives afar, a migrant far from home,

To build our house, through foreign lands to roam.

When thoughts of family fill his mind,

Longing grips his heart, so cruel, unkind.

Like pearls, his tears fall from his eyes,

Adorning sorrow no one ever spies.

“Daddy, when will you return?” they pray,

His children wait and hope each day.

Too late they learn his worth so true,

Their hearts now ache with deep regret anew.

Your sweetest tea has lost its taste,

Your earned-up money feels like waste.

This splendid house, so rich, so grand,

Without a father—no builder’s hand.

Gulsevar Mirzamahmudova was born on May 12, 2009, in Eskiarab village, Oltiariq District of Fergana Region. She is currently an 11th-grade student of Class 11B at General Secondary School No. 23. She is a holder of the National Certificate in Uzbek Language and Literature.

The trust of my parents has given me strength.

My father is the most precious person in my life, a man whose value is as high as the sky itself. He is such a father that if I asked him for a single star from the sky, he would prepare the moon for me instead. Until this very age, he has always been my support — encouraging my education in every possible way, working tirelessly day and night for my sake. He has always told me, “My daughter, I have great hopes for you,” and has stood by my side, shoulder to shoulder, in every step I take. My father is my greatest pillar of strength, and when I try to describe him, tears come to my eyes.

Mashrabxoʻjayeva Feruzaxon was born on March 7, 2005, in Chimyon village, Fergana District, Fergana Region. She is currently a second-year student at Fergana State University.