One Man's Heaven (part 3)
"Aren't you at all curious to know what I've discovered?"
“I’d just like to know why all this pain, pressure.”
“It’s like a view into the firmament. I’m seeing through your arm, up through your neck, out the top of your head and into a whole other universe.”
“But is there blood or swelling? Is it black and blue?”
“There are masses of clouds and men hanging around in long, white robes with wings coming off their shoulders.”
“Does it look like a fresh wound?”
“My God, there’s Dora Eban. She died when I was just a kid. My mom told me she had some disease or other. Can’t remember.”
“Is there a scab or yellow pus oozing out?”
“And she’s back with Ma Prince, the mother who survived her. Must have been so sad. Never appreciated it then.”
“Listen, you’re not helping a bit. There’s a lack of communication, you in your own world.”
“Perhaps, but I’m here through you. See what you’ve done for me. Too bad you can’t view it."
“It’s getting progressively more painful.”
“No way to see through a hole in the back of your own arm—like not being able to put an elbow in your ear.”
“Worsening by the minute.”
“You’ve transported me!”
“Please. I need relief!”
“I’m seeing a new light. Maybe I can find you a couple of mirrors.”
“Genuine hell here!”
Susanne Braham holds a B.A. in English and comparative literature from Columbia University’s School of General Studies in New York City and an M.A. in theater education from Emerson College in Boston, MA. Several of her poems have been published in two recent anthologies about widowhood. In addition to other poetry, she has published literary nonfiction and humorous anecdotes; her favorite is online at Clever Magazine.
She has worked in Off and Off-Off Broadway theater as an actress, stage manager, and electrician, and was an elementary school librarian for six years. Having edited for Columbia University for more than 17 years, she has recently retired from full-time employment to rest her eyes.
