July 2016
Page 31
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On November 29, 1969, “Here Comes the Bride” was being played
on the church organ when my father walked me down the aisle. All
the attendees stood and turned around as we started down the aisle.
There was an audible gasp from the audience. My wedding dress
was a mini-dress, the current style.
The minister was so rattled that he forgot to ask, “Who gives this
woman to be married to this man?” So, my father awkwardly stood at
Hopeless
by Suzy Hopkins
the altar during the entire ceremony. The confused minister also forgot
to say, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
The minister was hopeless.
My dress wasn’t THAT short.
Windsor Writers
A faint whistle stirs me out of a dead, dreamless sleep. It has rhythm
and sudden nearness. I hear it again, louder. Instant alarm pulses
inside me and my eyelids pop open, useless in the flat dark of night. I
fight the urge to spring out of bed. I think of the lamp and reach for
it; then I rule it out. I lie motionless. I stop breathing to listen against
the slamming of my heart. The whistle stops just as abruptly and I
feel my mouth go dry. My neck is cold. I know the blue light from the
clock radio weakly outlines me in the bed. Whatever is nearby can
see me. The fan whirs from the ceiling. My lungs beg for breath. I
Night Listening
by Nancy Martz
want to gulp air, but I open my mouth to take it in slowly, soundlessly.
I get the nerve to lift my head inches. I look at the dark openings to
the bathroom and to the closet and to the doorway. I turn my head
slightly to see the window. I stare adjusting to the night, wondering
when the whistling will return and what it will bring with it.
Then I lose control of my breathing and inhale deeply through my
nose. A distinct whistling emanates. Oh. It is I. I blow my nose and go
back to sleep.
The night was peaceful, silent, and still.
It belonged to me and God as I slumbered deep.
The sound of rain and thunder woke me against my will.
God opened the sky, and led the way. Someone had a promise to
keep
Last night when the Heavens opened up.
He promised never to leave me, because I was loved so true.
He said don’t despair; the sun always rises in the morning.
He spoke so soft and gentle as he always used to do.
He held me tight, he smiled. I don’t remember him returning
Last night when the Heavens opened up.
Total peace was mine in the stillness of last night.
I yearned for a friend who awaits me in Heaven.
Last Night When the Heavens Opened Up: A Tribute to my Father
by Sheila Johnson
Time escaped her boundaries and ran and took flight.
In the shadow of death, life looked like a raven
Last night when the Heavens opened up.
I missed him then, and I miss him now.
My heart hurts with insurmountable pain.
God allowed him to visit me for a while.
Gone were the sounds of thunder and rain
Last night when the Heavens opened up.
I fell asleep. My soul was at rest.
The beauty of the night took over.
It was dark and peaceful outside again
Last night when the Heavens opened up.
While visiting my daughter in Ohio I was asked to retrieve something
from one of her closets. When I opened the closet I stopped, stunned
by what I saw. There was the black dress.
As one of the younger girls in a family with seven girls I was used to
hand-me-down clothes. None of them was particularly memorable
except the black dress. The original owner was my beautiful sister,
Sabra. In my mind when I saw the dress I once again saw her twirling
around her room, then sitting down on the floor, the skirt spreading
into a circle around her. Somewhere there is a picture taken of her
at that moment when I fell in love with that dress. As a ten year old I
dreamed about dancing in that dress.
As the years passed I only fleetingly thought about the dress until
one day I was looking for something to wear to a dance. My mom
Dancing and Twirling Through the Years
by Molly Hegman
overheard me mumbling about not having anything to wear. This
prompted her to mention that I might find something in the storage
closet. This idea did not excite me but I followed along so that I could
prove that I needed a new dress. I walked to the closet knowing that
I was going to prove my point. I opened the door and began to sort
through the left-behind clothing. Suddenly my hand felt something
familiar. Could it be? As I pulled out the black taffeta that my hand
had found I knew that it was my dress! I knew that my sister, Pinky, had
worn it a few times but I had not seen or heard of it since. I quickly
took it out of the closet. By this time the dress was about ten years
old. It looked like new. It fit almost perfectly. The only problem was
Dancing and Twirling
continued on page 35
