Celebrating East End Writers of All Genres
Nonfiction, Fiction, Poetry, Prose, and more

The light above me was so bright - and only inches away from my face - that I could feel the warmth radiating from it.  I squinted but then closed my eyes to avoid being reminded of the song lyrics “blinded by the light.” I’m sure the words had a meaning other than just literally having my vision pierced, but that’s exactly how it felt.   The interrogation began with “I haven’t seen you in awhile, how have things been with you?”.  Yes, it had been months, and what felt like t

The grass has ris; I wonder where the birdies is The birdies, they is on the wing But that’s absurd I thought the wing was on the bird   It’s the time of year when everyone breathes a sigh of relief. Ahh, they say, turning faces to the sun, shaking out a blanket to picnic in the grass. Pink cherry blossoms burst from trees and green shows itself in all its shades. But I’m still in winter mode, not ready to be so relaxed, or to get out the patio furniture – it’s old and rusty,

I lived the way many of us do, eating what was fast, easy, and convenient. I worked on the road. On Long Island, that meant bagels and deli sandwiches grabbed between jobs, pizza by the slice, 7-Eleven coffee. Boxed, bagged, frozen, microwaved. Food that filled me up but left something deeper untouched. Looking back, much of what I consumed was dead. Devitalized. Stripped of the very thing that gives life its force. Light. It took serious illness for me to begin paying attent

Connecting minds, Sharing ideas and tools Making a difference, Listening to hopes, dreams, and needs. Curious to learn more. A slight turn of the head For a better view of people and events As digitized photographic memories Reminds me of my past gone by A stronger scent fills the nasal cavity. My mind devoid of thought And my body feels like a pool of Jell-O. Easing my anxiety A mood booster With a burst of orange and lemongrass Suddenly I feel lovely, Somehow lighter and en

On the floor of my closet is a beat-up wooden box I’ve been ignoring since June. June 1 st  to be exact, the day I retired from practicing psychotherapy and psychoanalysis. The box is brown, beat up, uneven bottoms let the light through. It is heavy to lift. The contents are basic enough:  a dozen thick gray files with the names of my most recent patients written  in black sharpie on the tabs, notes on sessions inside the files, a paperback book on psychotropic medications, a

I’ve always hated mice.  The real ones, of course.  The cartoon ones, stuffed toy ones, ceramic ones - any inanimate ones, basically, are okay in my book and I can find them completely adorable.  But my hatred of real ones is deep in my core and, as anyone that really knows me can attest, they trigger a mix of anger, fear and disgust in me. That in turn releases a primal “aaaaccckkk!,” an automatic recoil, which many would consider a bit extreme. And then, of course, my brain

When I went on long-term medical leave ten years ago, we didn’t need know how long "long-term" would be, I expected cards, flowers, gifts and well wishes from colleagues, from both new and well-established relationships.  What I am in awe about is that some people are still reaching out.  If I don’t talk to them, I see them on a regular basis or they send me a card.  During three prior medical leaves, I was overwhelmed by the love and support of friends outside work and work

I hear footsteps upstairs  Sometimes soft and light  Sometimes determined and unstoppable  Her voice mimics her steps  Most often soft and light like dandelions   blowing in the breeze  Sometimes the little voice is harsh and cracking.  It’s hearing the tears that break me  The tears pierce my heart like shards of glass  The door is open and I hear the music of her voice and footsteps  The door is closed and the music of her voice and footsteps rains down through the vents  E

After Joshua died, there was no point in living. Without him I was nothing but an empty shell, or a seething mass of pain. I took the sleeping pills prescribed by the doctor only to wake up to an even greater emptiness and disappointment at still being alive. A small shred of me could see that Paul cared, that my mother and father cared but they too were grieving. Sometimes, I’d dream that there was a way to bring Joshua back, a cure or a magic trick I had overlooked. An impr

So when does a hobby become an obsession?  According to “popular internet search engine, Google”, a hobby is “an activity done regularly...

We all know the tragedy, know that it’s coming and with musical anticipation, we feel it.

I woke up on the sofa-bed to a heavy silence and I knew that Peter had gone. It was 3AM and a grey indigo hung around in the air before...

Blooms big and bright  Sunflowers, roses, carnations, and lilies  The rain stopped and tranquil blue skys emerged  The aroma of citronella candles   harmonized with the   music the crickets played  The food was good, wine flowed   like a summer breeze,   and ice danced in fancy glasses   Memories were made  Twenty five years later Jazzercise will always  be more about friendship and fun than fitness  July 2023

When I was very young, maybe in first grade, my teacher was one of the smartest people I’ve known.  She encouraged students to do simple...

The smell of rhubarb steaming from the pot, up my nose and into a place of nostalgia. I remember growing it in all the places I have ever...

I was 20 years old and shared a VW bug with my brother.  We alternated weekends having that great car.  Luckily, the weekend of...

It’s no surprise my life changed dramatically after my spine surgery 10 years ago. I am still in mourning for the life I had.  Did I ever...

It’s quiet in the house when he’s not here. A big, empty space full of longing. The workshop is cold and it’s dark, even with the light...

It’s midwinter, February to be exact, four minutes after 7am and I’ve just woken up.  Before hopping out of bed, I had a stretch with...