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
green insect

Parasite

By L. Acadia

“I watch a soul leave the fresh insect corpse in an unfurling black twitch, stiff like coarse hair slowly twisted from both ends. It is constrained until it flaps free of the mantis, shiny segments recoiling. Gathering. Seeking.”

selective focus photography of yellow petaled flowers

The Foal

By Lorette C. Luzajic

“I did everything they told me, but still, I got smaller. And everything hurt, even the sunlight on my skin. I didn’t tell anyone what was going on in inside of me, how lonely it felt to know you were going to die when you were just a colt yourself.”

Mai Tai

Z Special Unit

By Curt Saltzman

“At times, I felt I was living with a stranger to see him huddled with his cronies, cocktail in hand, naked to the waist, a carnation lei hanging from his neck like a fallen halo, beneath the softly swaying lanterns, or choosing albums from the personal collection he rarely touched otherwise.”

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This