I've been writing flash fiction and this piece called 'Alaska' is based on my childhood and an experience during a season of depression. I'm in Texas next week which means I'll be writing more firsthand experiences with reverse culture shock, but until then . . . Alaska. Here is the audio clip:
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And here is the print version:
My favourite place was the 33rd floor where my legs would dangle,
as a gawked at the pink hazed mountain landscape
and watched his manicured hands pull a silver pen out of the leather bound briefcase.
He gave important orders in his shiny suit surrounded by bronze sculptures of oil rigs.
His favourite place was sitting in the star-lit dark
until the wispy lime green and apple reds feather-danced across the sky;
the Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights.
Later we would catch Rainbow trout, hike in bear infested forests,
spy on nine-foot moose and admire humpbacks feasting on schooling fish.
Once, I ran ahead,
skipping on the ice unaware until I came to a sapphire blue patch on a glacier.
He saw me and ran harder as I began to
slip and slide and slither into a cold, black crevasse .
His uncalloused hand grabbed my wrist and I his,
while he used his power to pull me to a snowy shore.
At 35, I slipped again,
this time into the swirling water that sucked me
into a cold, black wetness of an emotional abyss.
Months later, still bobbing and gasping for air,
l dreamed of the manicured hand, powerful and sure,
grabbing my wrist and pulling me up, pulling me close.
That dream brought stability, security, sanctuary, so I could breathe again.
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