A short story

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

Jane. What a name. Plain Jane. Sweet Jane. Rolling Stones’ Lady Jane with colors in her hair like the rainbow. Jane is anything but plain in song.

How do you conjugate Jane? I Jane. I Janed. I am Janing.

I am a clever drunk. It’s too bad there aren’t cameras…


A Short Story

She lived forty years without ever seeing a fairy, so it was a surprise when one showed up at her weekly office meeting.

Maggie told herself it was an optical illusion. One blind was half open. The afternoon sun was coming in sideways and striking the corner where there must…


Simultaneous Contrasts: Sun and Moon, Robert Delaunay (public domain)

A poem


The new — is it still Medium, what are those dots?

Medium logo. . . circa a long time ago now. Property of Medium. (Fair use)

My thoughts on the new Medium . . . web-version.

The New Profile Page

  1. All short pieces that are behind a monetized pay-wall are now freely available. That doesn’t make cents. . .

Even though the new payout formula has resulted in a 90% reduction in payment for me and a lot of other…


A poem

Paul Klee, Senecio-1922 (public domain)

Everything will be normal again
and I’ll lean on my horn
at the injustice of double
parkers on single-lane streets.

I’ll roll my eyes at the throngs
of tourists blocking
my way on cobblestone paths.

I’ll scream inwardly,
impatient with slow-moving
lines ahead of me
as I make my way
to my theater…


A poem

Vasily Kandinsky, Small Worlds V, (public domain)

You want to take everything
and make it new
in your garage
repair shop.

I see myself spread out
on your work
bench —

my broken wings,
give them back
to me. They are
more aerodynamic
that way
than you think.

My heart,
these pieces
don’t need to be
soldered back together…


A poem

Paul Klee, “A Woman for Gods”, Public Domain

.
.

Alone in the dark with a mind
is a dangerous place to be.

I am full of thoughts turned inward,
in the softness of my bed.

Every vexation rises to the surface —
self-recriminations, doubts, worries.

Alone in the dark with memories I wish
were better, but too often I sold myself out
because it was easier.

Now I am full of frustrated
longing. I sleep alone with a mind-enemy
ready to do battle
with any semblance of peace.

Nightmares overtake me,
I awake unsettled.

My heartbeat pounds upside down
and my mind is on the downside
of half-awake.

Alone in the dark, I wish to be
without this mind for a few hours
and slip into the darkest reaches
of the deep sleep
I knew as a child.

~

© 2020, A. Breslin. All Rights Reserved


A poem

Paul Klee, Untitled, (public domain)

.
.

I am scattered
pieces of Europe;
a quilt of the scrap remains
of dozens of immigrants.

I am from nowhere
else, but I’m white,
so people ask
about the ancestors
I never knew.

I oblige and rattle
off my list of countries,
and they list theirs too.

Maybe…

Anna Breslin

GenX writer. Old poems at medium.com/annapoetics Infrequently updated website — annabreslin.com Inquiries writeannab at gmail dot com

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