Rose Bromberg

Alternate Universe

Rose Bromberg

(for Teddy, 2021) In the news, eight are killed in Indianapolis when a gunman opens fire in a FedEx facility before turning the gun on himself. The coronavirus rages in Michigan, multiple cases and hospitalizations daily — some of the worst outbreaks in the nation.

My grandnephew is not yet three. His bevy of blond curls bounce as he runs barefoot, back and forth from one side of the patio to the other sings ‘choo-choo’ … ‘choo-choo’, croons to the shrill sound of an imaginary whistle pulls the emergency cord on his imaginary train forces a full stop in the middle of Anywhere, U.S.A. — oblivious to family and the world around him.

The day begins to vanish. I see only shrinking light from sun, moon rising as Earth continues its daily spin under sky.

Rose Bromberg is the author of two poetry chapbooks whose themes span the world of nature and the field of medicine: The Language of Seasons (Finishing Line Press, 2018) and Poemedica (Finishing Line Press, 2011), which was a finalist in FLP’s Poetry Chapbook Competition. Rose is a Pushcart Prize nominee and her work has appeared in numerous journals and anthologies such as RUNE (The MIT Journal of Arts and Letters), Medscape J Med., Bridges, Southern Indiana Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, rock & sling and elsewhere. She lives in Florida.

Trying to Come Up with Distracting Conversation

Nancy Kay Peterson

The only time my sister ever accused me of driving too slow, was when we picked my mother up at the hospital and drove her past the gas station she no longer used because she had to stop driving, the sales site of the manufacturer that built my parents pre-fab retirement home, the bar that had an annual pig roast and cow chip throwing contest, the trailer court they’d lived in when they came for pre-retirement visits, the home-grown, prime rib restaurant where Dad loved the relish tray, the dam whose lights they could see from their picture window, the newly black-topped driveway, leading to her home, my sister's vacation trailer next door, the harbor where they’d moor the fishing boat, the bar, now exotic dance club, where they'd eat weekend buffets, the trees where eagles soared, and we crossed over the river past the restaurant where we’d celebrate Mother's Day, through the town and up the hill, to the small, tidy nursing home where every time we come to visit she asks if we've come to drive her home.

Nancy Kay Peterson’s poetry has appeared in print and online in numerous publications, most recently in Dash Literary Journal, HerWords, Last Stanza Poetry Journal, One Sentence Poems, Spank the Carp, Steam Ticket, Tipton Poetry Journal and Three Line Poetry. From 2004-2009, she co-edited and copublished Main Channel Voices: A Dam Fine Literary Magazine (Winona, Minnesota). Finishing Line Press published her two poetry chapbooks, Belated Remembrance (2010) and Selling the Family (2021). For more information, see www.nancykaypeterson.com.