The Orchid Journal

click...click...click The librarian scrolled down the page with excruciating slowness. I was standing at the desk waiting for her to find a copy of "Frankenstein" that I knew the Mission Branch had. I had found the book while at work and put a reserve on the copy so that they would have it ready by the time I got to the library, but there had been some mix up and instead of the library reserving the copy from that branch, they had ordered it from another branch. Since the book would not be there for another few days with that odd route, I was trying to find the copy I knew they had in hand. "Well, here is an illustrated comic book-like version of Frankenstein," the librarian suggested helpfully. "No, that is not the one I need," I said, "I need the classic version by Mary Shelley." click...click.click....click.........click "Here's 'Frankenstein Lives' by Bruce Richardsen." "Nope, that's not it," I countered,...

Lay your heavy head upon my breast, soft like the clouds rising and falling with the wind. Wrapped in gentle arms, let me hold your sighing, sad, shuddering body wracked by unshed tears and long-held lies that pain with surfacing newness. Hear my heartbeat, rhythmic and slow, beating for you. A lullaby lulling your restless heart. These years of silent stoicism- receding sorrow of salty tears like waves of the ocean before a tsunami. Feel our hot tears mixing, gathering on your hair and cheeks, rushing unrelenting while purging the wasteland. Weep not, nor mourn your burden alone in the dark, cold, world devoid of sympathy for the weary. Come. Weep, wail, cry, mourn, sorrow in my ear as my hands, caressing your features tenderly, soothe your sobs to whimpers; and then you rise.