…i have to kick him out of the shelter today. he had another incident last night. fourth one now. had a screaming match with the staff. threw a punch. flipped a table. damn near kept the other guests up all night. i read this email as the morning snow picks up outside. i lean back in my chair and watch snowflakes fill the air, soon to be 5-7 inches on the ground according to the local weather report. the motion becomes hypnotic, like a kaleidoscope turning over crystal mandalas against a grey city backdrop. i slip for a moment into trance-like nostalgia, completely stolen away by the beauty of winter – like it used to be before i got into this work. when i was ignorant. when snowfall didn’t mean death. when it wasn’t something i sought to protect those without the gift of sanity from. i close my eyes and try to stay in this place, but instead i lose my balance, almost falling back in my chair. the scare from the near fall thrusts me back to reality. i’m in my office again, staring down an unanswered email. i reply – okay, will do. then i head to the supply closet down the hall to check for extra blankets…
B. Dixon is an emerging writer and licensed counselor living in Salem, MA. His writing has been published in J Journal, Boston Literary Magazine, Buddhist Poetry Review, Star 82 Review, and Unbroken Journal and will be featured in an upcoming issue of Main Street Rag. His micro-chapbook, Insomnia,> was recently published by the Origami Poems Project and can be downloaded on their website.
You can see more of his work in 9.4 and 9.2 and 8.3