August 15, 2023

Empty Pockets

By Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena
Photo by John Capistrano on Pexels.com

My wife informed me that my son had a fever. She was agitated and upset. She stayed in bed beside our child all night with her prayer books and rosary. I never believed in such a fantasy. It is like a house with no roof, a well with no water. No messenger of God ever came down from heaven to stop my father from dying right in front of me—she seemed to think I had been indifferent since the very beginning of our marriage. Perhaps she’s right. I just stood by the window, staring at nothing, with my hands in my empty pockets.

About the Author

Simon Anton Niño Diego BaenaSimon Anton Niño Diego Baena lives in the Philippines with his wife and son. He is the author of three chapbooks, most recently Ritual and Other Poems from Blue Horse Press. His work is forthcoming in Pembroke Magazine, South Dakota Review, Taos Journal of Poetry, The Summerset Review, Osiris, Louisiana Literature, and elsewhere.

Related Flash
dark clouds in the sky

Shawl with Bees and Sage

By Claudia Monpere

“She wants to want again: the smell of rain on warm asphalt, the feel of granite threaded with glittering mica. She wants to know about ripples not cracks.”

kigoa football on green grass during daytime

Reading John Cheever During Monday Night Football

By Laton Carter

“Somebody is always settling the score. On the terrace, before and after dinner—drinks, the air rich with assignation.”

brown and black cat

Such Good Care

By Ani King

“My mom has never been one for much crying. Not that she never cried, she was a child once, and sometimes one of my aunts will get the sharp, gleeful look of a wronged sibling about to cash in on a little emotional revenge.”

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This