By: Walter Weinschenk
“Yesterday, I walked along the empty corridor that lies behind my consciousness and opened up a door –
And what I saw astounded me
An endless room of empty space, open and alive, black velour in layers, one atop another,
each one darker than the next, lit by all these tiny stars, blinking white and ultra-bright,
embellished borders rife with planets (at least a dozen, more or less), dressed in golden
overcoats, sometimes red or raw sienna, tilting spinning leaning tops; they wandered
through that space as if it were a park
And then, today, I walked along the shore, determined legs, swinging arms and felt the tension in my hand and simply decided, then and there, to open up my fist -
And what I saw astounded me
A butterfly flew out, magenta rose and tiny pink chapeau atop, perfect legs and wings
pressed thin like cotton cloth, single yellow stripe from end to end and each veined blue
and powdered white like coffee cake, amber dotted all around, flutter fly and off she went
Which is why I suggest that you might not know what lies in wait - and I tell you, stranger, I did not – but isn’t it just possible that a room waits, patiently, for you to step inside?
Do your fingers long to reveal the gifts you’ve held in hand for far too long?
Is it fear or gravity of thought or weight of flesh that suffocates the life in you?”
Walter Weinschenk is an attorney, writer and musician. Until a few years ago, he wrote short stories exclusively but now divides his time equally between poetry and prose. Walter's writing has appeared in the Carolina Quarterly, Sunspot Literary Journal, The Esthetic Apostle, The Gateway Review and A Rose For Lana. Walter lives in a suburb just outside Washington, D. C.