Fredrick Zydek and Kathleen J. Stowe

Old Blind Charlie
Fredrick Zydek

How many years he lived there,
nobody really knew. Since
all the men on the block were
children was the suggestion.
And no one understood why he
only spoke to the delivery clerk
who brought groceries to his
door, or why he ordered them
by mailing lists to the store.
Children call him crushing names,
and rumor had it that his wife
died of syphilis he brought home
after the war. The woman who
cleaned for him on Thursdays
claimed he left her salary in a
dish on the kitchen counter and
sat on the front porch until she
finished and left by the back.
She claimed the walls were filled
with framed photos of his wife,
she knew he could not see.
Except for the music we heard
coming from his piano each day,
no sound came from the house.
He played but one piece of music,
a tune called Dear Old Girl.


Out of the Rain
by Kathleen J. Stowe

Anne waited. She sat hunched over on the top step of the front stoop with the border collie, Mischa, pressed against her left side, the gray-striped alley cat, Dexter, huddled next to her right thigh. (more)