Honeymoon

She asks me to put bacitracin on her heel.
“Do you see a small cut?”
I nod and rub the ointment against the crack.
Her feet are calloused and rough.
“That feels good.” She sighs.

I see her honeymoon picture on the end table.
My mother and father could be my children.
Waving from the past, bright eyes and lips,
she resembles Elizabeth Taylor in a hat.
Both dressed in fine apparel,
expectant, happy, apprehensive expressions.
“What you looking at?” She glances to the side.
“Oh, that,” she says softly. I rub Aveeno into her feet.
Tilting her head back, she closes her eyes and smiles.

The room darkens. The rain outside taps a pane.
I think of how far these feet have walked,
the tenderness at the bottom of her sole.
Kneeling, I’m thankful to ease one hurt.
Her chest rises and falls, and soon she will sleep.

Someday later, I’ll hold the photograph
and remember this night—
the rain and the darkening eve.
I will see my mother waving to me.
Maybe I will feel the cut of pain, a sigh of love,
or nothing at all.

Session’s End

One day there is no news.
The anchors stare at empty teleprompters,
Eyes wide and twitching, lips quivering,
they look into the camera.

We change channels.
See black screens or people scrambling on sets,
Passing blank papers and whispering.
We do not hear what they say, and we do not care.

We are too tired to move.
Through the living room windows: trees and sky.
The wind blows and birds fly.
Somewhere snow falls and thunder booms.

But not here. There is no weather.
No drama, conflict, or story.
No wars, crimes, or political crises.
No empty talk. No sound and fury.

In a forest, high on a pine,
a wood thrush sings.
Deep in a dark-water cave,
the Emperor angelfish knocks.
A judge’s ruling: session’s end.
Someone shuts a door.

James Mulhern has appeared in literary journals over two hundred and fifty times and has been recognized with many awards. In 2015, Mr. Mulhern was granted a fully paid writing fellowship to Oxford University. A story was longlisted for the Fish Short Story Prize that same year. In 2017, he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Two of his novels were Finalists for the United Kingdom’s Wishing Shelf Book Awards. His novel, Give Them Unquiet Dreams, was a Kirkus Reviews Best Book of the Year. He was shortlisted for the Aesthetica Creative Writing Award 2020 for his poetry.