State of the Whirled

Callie stopped attempting to read the message in the excrement. She’d hitchhiked without shoes before. She wrapped the sandals in pink cloth for someone to find, crossed the highway and looked back. The dog lifted his leg over the gift.

‘So that’s the way, it is?’

‘That’s the way it’s always been’, the dog countered.


Holly St Clair.


Child’s Play

I sent my inner child after the demon, Fear. They played hide and seek until he tried to bite. With pointing finger, she commanded him to a corner. The child then laid a hand upon his hunched back, listened, then blessed him with tears she kept in a special box.


Holly St Clair.


Becoming an Activist

The officer pushed me into the van holding my fellow demonstrators.

Once, a psychiatrist asked my earliest memory.

My mother was hanging sheets on the line. I saw a blimp and thought it was a bomb, I went ballistic. Mommy laughed. Her cheek was cool, comforting, like the sheets, blowing in the wind.


Holly St. Clair.


Meeting the Neighbors

“Come in. I’ll make tea. I’m not Christian”, I say to the praying man. “I’m a sun worshipper. Our bodies are made of super novas.”

I smile and continue, “Long ago, a person was honored to be sacrificed if it brought rain for the crops.”

They set down their cups and leave, never returning.


Holly St. Clair