Poet Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer explores the layers that come between us in the following.

Mom must have been upstairs
the day I turned on the old TV
and saw a man and a woman
kissing each other.
Not just kissing.
Almost eating each other.
Mouths open, faces angling,
lips slanting to consume each other.
I stared at the hunger
on their faces and wondered
how they managed to hide
the saran wrap that was surely
between them, some thin layer
to keep them separate.
I searched the screen for any trace of it,
certain no one could ever
want to be that unprotected,
that close.
Almost fifty years later,
I sometimes notice invisible layers
that come between us —
thinner than saran wrap,
no less of a barrier.
How I love when they
disappear.

A New Chapter

Cecilia Stewart, at the age of 67, moved to Tucson, Arizona, after previously living all of her life in the greater Cincinnati area. She writes the following in response to the October dispatch.

“My move (to Tucson) really has had an impact on me. In a good way. It has made me think, question, and ponder who I am. For the first time in my life, I am surrounded by cultural diversity. Everywhere! It has taken me some time to get used to it. I feel I stand out being a white, blond female –– a huge difference from my all-white neighborhood where I grew up. I am learning every day. It has been embarrassing, troubling, frustrating, enlightening, humbling and uplifting. I am very grateful for this experience and feel lucky to be able to embrace this new chapter in my life. The desert and mountains have much to teach me.”

Top Image: Pixabay/Omar Medina
Second Image: Pixabay/Michelle Raponi
Side bar image: Pixabay/Sabine van Erp