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
Cat looking out a window next to an open book

Since The Moon Went Away

By Kathryn Silver-Hajo

When Corinne feels on top of her game, she’s a tangerine-stripe cat strutting around the neighborhood, taking in the scents.

Bees on honeycomb

Hive

By Kelli Short Borges

Mandy says she’s queen of seventh grade and we’re her workers and she “ha ha ha’s,” but her eyes flash venom and it’s annoying because Mandy’s the new girl and already thinks she’s royalty but she’s so pretty that we whirr around her…

shallow depth of field photo of steering wheel

Driving Lessons

By Rob Yates

“She felt like the big, dead moon. There was a penumbra around her. It was all the things she couldn’t quite say to people, mixed with all the things she couldn’t quite think about herself.”

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This