Costly Solitude A sound. Barely, but nonetheless. Hushed. Quieted. Dampened. Pufflets of soft, minuscule, crystallized wet blanket the blankets it spread the eve before. The world has a momentary peace seeping deeper into my marrow. Awoken now to the chance, “Ah, to breathe!” Fresh, untainted air. My existence is solid. Much more so than these companions that twist, twirl, pivot and swirl, up, round and then dance. Gravity is bent on our descent. This mind is way too loud – Millions of six-pointed stars crumple under the satisfying crunch of intention. Trance broken, back to the silence of wisps that evanesce as I exhale. I return inside trading pure tranquility for warmth.
John Hansen received a BA in English from the University of Iowa and an MA in English Literature from Oklahoma State University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Summerset Review, Trouvaille Review, 50-Word Stories, One Sentence Poems, The Dillydoun Review, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Oddball Magazine, Eunoia Review, Litro Magazine, Drunk Monkeys, and elsewhere. He is English Faculty at Mohave Community College in Arizona. Read more at johnphansen.com.