Exciting News and 500 Days, The Letter, Continued ...

I've just recieved my publication schedule for my new chapbook that will be coming out from Finishing Line Press in June 2013. My chapbook is called The Flying Trolley and is about my experience teaching writing at Goldwater Hospital in New York City.  While I was teaching, I was hit by car and left unable to walk.  The book chronicles my how the long term care residents at Goldwater Hospital taughted me how to live with my bodies limitations.  I hope the work acts as a celebration of the gift they gave me (for which I will always be grateful).  I'll post news once you can pre-order The Flying Trolley early next year.

Today, in 500 Days, Amy's mother and father leave The Dew-Drop Inn without Amy in search of help.  Hope you enjoy! :
----------------------------

Veronica: From a High Steeple

I have no idea what to do but run.  William is doubled over in pain.  When I look up the street, at its peak I see, like a miracle, a white, wooden church.  It looks to be only 100 yards away.  I can carry William that far and so I do.  I carry his crumbled, bloody body up the dusty street to where the church stands.  There are people staring at us as we stumble on our way.  No one asks us if we are all alright.  They just see us, then, look down to the ground.  It’s as if we are passing through a sea of nothing.

William is able to half-walk, half-shuffle.  He’s beaten badly.  Blood is pouring out from above his right eye.  His left is swollen shut and his nose is pouring blood.  The way he’s bent over I assume he’s hurt his ribs too.  I’m only bruised up from the fall and the kick to my stomach.  I can feel blood tricking down my forehead from a gash where I must have clipped the balustrade as I fell. William moans in pain: a low animal moan that I’ve never heard from his lips before.  It is like the sound a woman makes when she is hard in labor and the baby is pressing against her, but her body won’t yet give.  I’d never heard that sound from a man.   When I try the church door, I’m not surprised to find it open.  I push us through the threshold and set William gingerly inside a pew near the door.  Then I call out. 

“Help!  Please, someone help us! We need help!” as loud as I can possibly yell. 

Almost immediately a man rushes into the room. 

“What’s the matter?”  He asks.  Then, he looks us over.  “You aren’t from around here are you?”  He asks.  “What’s happened?” 

“They have our daughter.”  I say.  “We tried to rescue her.  We came all the way from New York, but they wouldn’t let us in.”

“Where is she?  And how do you know she’s there?” He asks.

“She sent us a letter. I got it in the mail just two days ago.”  I pant.  I’m red-faced and filled with a rage I’ve never known before.  I can taste it’s coppery taste at the back of my throat.  I feel as if the whole church glowing with the singe of my anger.  The pastor sees my face and he walks over and gently sets me down in a pew. 

“I think,” he says, “I’d like to hear this story from the beginning.”