when i lived in my room it was necessary to turn it upside down. it had to be done i was told. i did not leave. i was there forever and now forever is gone. i would tell my maid what she wanted to fall out the room did not fall. there was no up and down when all was circular. one who has never been upside down does not know this. not my maid. she did not know this. she was a happy happy woman who looked at me when she thought i wasn't looking. i expected to see disgust on her face but she never looked at me with disgust. she hoped i would not fall and thought it her duty to watch me. i could not convince her i was incapable of falling just as i was incapable of flying. she did not understand this because she was a simple and happy maid. a person burdened with too much love. it pinned her to the floor. i think she had love for me. compassion anyway. i did not wish she visited more often. i shuddered when she knocked on the door and would take deep breaths before i told her to enter. she waited outside the thick door until i called for her to enter and she walked in with a smile. placed her necessary bag in the corner with the brooms and the winch she used to turn the room upside down. her work began.
John Riley lives in North Carolina, where he works in educational publishing. His fiction and poetry have appeared in several print and electronic journals, including SmokeLong Quarterly, Connotation Press, Willows Wept Review, Loch Raven Review, Dead Mule, and Blue Five Notebook. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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