 Mary Merlo resides in the midwestern state of Michigan where she enjoys all four seasons. A retired Human Resource Manager in the automotive industry, she finally has found time to pursue love of writing. She writes poetry, memoir and children’s picture books. Her work has been published in Water Music – Poetry Society of Michigan, Looking Back Magazine and will appear in the Spring 2018 edition of Peninsula Poets. She’s received awards from Detroit Working Writers for children’s stories and is pursuing publication. She enjoys time with family, especially grandchildren, a great source of inspiration for storytelling. She believes skills developed to write poetry provide an excellent basis for expanding creative interests in other literary genres. The Knowing HourAwake in darkness, I hear mockingbirds trill an endless mimic of blackbirds, orioles, shrikes and jays from a perch high in the yard. Nighttime not ended, morning not yet begun – that hour before daybreak. Stars suspended in a speckled sky outside my window beckon me to wish. Half awake, my inhibitions vanish, fantasies flourish. Like an electrical impulse, a flash of clarity surges to strike the core of my being, whispers untold truths of the heart. I know my secrets. Dawn approaches with a chorus of morning songbirds. Like a curtain drawn, revelations dim and dreams fade. First light coaxes consciousness, awakens reality’s edge. Sunrise proclaims a new day, but old shadows return, creep back to usual places. Dark MirrorsCowering, I scream -- but no sound comes out. I seek escape as elephants storm my deck with weight enough to collapse weather-beaten boards. They push against glass, grunt and growl, but the door wall doesn’t shatter. Feet stumble, I crawl upstairs where none can reach me, hide under the bed so I won’t fall off the floor. They rear up, raise trunks and trumpet. White teeth flash in place of ivory tusks. Invisible barriers crash, enable entry inside my head where repressed emotions struggle to be freed. Tenuous sanity fails to suppress tangles of anger, grief and fear. They burst forth to flow into tentacled rivers of rage and trap me. I drown in black tears pouring down dark mirrors of my mind. Backdraft MemoriesBooks tossed on counter, table cluttered, letters not opened, bills unpaid. Hungry kids home from school, french fries sizzle, dogs snooze nearby. Grease ignites, sparks fly, curtains shrivel, cedar shingles engulfed, house immersed in flames. Help! Call 911. Upstairs, downstairs, find the boys quick. Smoke billows, sirens wail, red trucks scream. Black hose unravels, water gushes, yellow jackets aim, big boots scurry to barricade street. Glass shatters, wood burns, fire flies like the 4th of July. Helicopter whop-whops overhead, cameras roll. Heat rises, roof scorches, then sags, crowd gasps. Fierce blaze dies down, smolders, ignites again, consumes remains. Hot-hued colors glow beneath a moonless sky abandoned by stars. Hours later, fireman digs deep in his coat pocket, removes a squeaking hamster, hands it to a child. The FalconShrieks of kee-kee-kee arise. black-feathered helmet turns, keen eyes spot quarry,
bullet-shaped body plummets. Black squirrel scampers, brown squirrel pauses, a moment too long, as hook-shaped talons snatch. Food-chain creatures chatter, disturb stillness of woods. Black squirrel flattens against tree, tail drawn tightly round body like a cloak to protect. Pointed wings spread, soar to a perch, razor-sharp beak tears, rips dinner into silence. Red-stained plume ceases its twitch, hangs like victory token. The bird of prey will not finish eating nor be distracted for hours.
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