'Flash' writing anthology about chronic pain - submissions welcome!

Tag: identity (Page 3 of 4)

‘Collateral Damage’, by Ellie Conway

There is too much light
in the air today.
My eyelids won’t retreat; 
they’re the heavy squad,
repelling all invaders.
My protection
from a day too heavy

for me, 
for my chest, 
my arms.
my legs.

I can only lie 



its weight.

Breathing takes will.
Push, push the invisible hand
feel it press back 



and repeat.

Repeat again.

Muscles rebel.
Fibres tug against their tense kin,
stiffening, a shudder of spasms.
Nerve endings return fire, 
trajectory dipping from collarbone 
toward elbow 
past wrist 
till fingertips vibrate 







The throb, I ache.

My feet go AWOL – no – 
now they’re back with a burn.
Television assaults me, 
sound and vision launch


combined assaults, 
attacking my senses.

My brain scrambles to keep up.


In silence, the soft pillows embrace me.
I lean in.
Let them tend my wounds.



‘Hagalaz’, by Ruth V. Chalkley

In Lithuanian, runoti means both “to cut (with a knife)” and “to speak”.

      Hail: Hagalaz
      Pain, loss, suffering, hardship, sickness, crisis.



        Sometimes, some time,



‘i want my mom’, by socks

i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom i want my mom

  • by socks

‘It was necessary to lend myself to the memory’, by Amy Allara

It was necessary to lend myself to the memory 
of a body that could. 

To separate from the broken figure, 
the body that would not listen. 

To not pretend. 

To forego. 

To not waste the clock’s signal. 

To set it straight. 

To disown magical inclinations. 

To attach to that which understands. 

To disavow the indifferent. 

To be quiet. 

To stay quiet. 

To quit the before.

  • by Amy Allara


‘It is absurd to suppose that forms spring from names’, by Amy Allara

And what are the chances that I am 
what this is 
this as what I am 
told to be the case 
and I am the case 
to be taken on and 
out of the way 
fix it so others can breathe 
and get on with it 
what are the chances 
that this is what I am 
and this this is not going to shift— 

A four letter word 
and its undoing 
everyone has gone and 
there is just this 
and this is what I am. 


Forms do spring from names 
in or out of absurdity,

and this is the loneliest form 
I have ever seen.

  • by Amy Allara


‘that unwanted invasion’, by R. Redman

that unwanted invasion
– now tethered over my back
binding my knees
burdening my shoulders 
with the heaviness
which is my own being – 
my own cosmic orb of flames
arcing slowly across
from dawn until dusk
and smoldering on 
through shadowland.
– now anchored still
tugging below my ribs
pulling inside my left eye
centering my own gaze
on then –
on it.


  • by R Redman

‘Focal Signal Intensity Enhancements’, by Maureen Miller

I’m poeming this poem 
from a forest-boreal 
transition zone 

anticipating intense 
public reaction 
to my poem

against the bony mets 
that XXXX up my posture
& infiltrate our nat’l backbone 

its prostate biopsy
analogy lost/inapparent
in the sagamore gloam

this spine unresponsive 
to the pre-patent analog 
that is my poem


  • by Maureen Miller
  • doctorwritermaureenmiller.tumblr.com

[This poem was inspired by an ad for a medical conference, “Summer Radiology Symposium at the Sagamore,” at an upstate New York retreat for Gilded Age millionaires. I found out about it while previewing prostate biopsies for a surgical pathology service. We don’t see the pain except in tissue core numbers. Who that’s most unfair to is the subject. Readers may decide.]

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