Instant Karma

I wish I was from the sixties…

Looking up at the purple night sky looking for guidance to bring prosperity at peace. Twirling and skipping to Harrison’s album to capture and hold the world’s gaze into reality.

What surrounded them. The rights and lives to the people.

Sneaking into my room ripping my jeans into daisie-dukes. Throwing a bandana up and around my hair to show off my face, rebelling against societal views and wishes.

Gathering my friends together around the tapestry, playing and trying new things (perhaps some things that created a funky smell while making me feel at ease) while fingers glided against the acoustic string to generate words into song; humming poetry into melody; singing loudly to forget the pains of the world.

Grabbing a vanilla milkshake at the diner down the way that was home to the savory smell of deep fried oil that held the infamous delicicases such as frenchfries, hamburgers, and my personal favorite, the cheeseburger, that served to feed the land.

The waitress roller blading up to the driver’s side hanging a tray on the window as the 1966 Chevy radio elicicts louder sound,

And just then, Lennon’s voice filled the evening sky.

“But we all shine on.”

The Title is Unknown For this Short Story

I wept when I glimpsed out of my bedroom window this morning. The garden is gone. Parched. Destroyed. The arid Wichita heat continues to flood the central lands of Kansas, pulverizing any sign of life that can no longer be nurtured.

The picket fence that once protected mother’s beloved sunflowers bathes in the scorching sun, losing its gentle white glow, buried by lifeless dirt. Mother said that it is hard to harvest lately, and that the McKinley’s are soon shutting down their ranch down the road and moving east. “But why mother?” I asked. “Because it’s time for the McKinley’s to share their cattle with the rest of the world.” But I knew that wasn’t true. Mother always said what she had to make me understand in a fruitful way. She always said so with a warming smile, shining lovingly under her beautiful draped sunhat with a big black ribbon tied neatly on the front. But something was off; I could tell by the way the wind carried the land that morning.

“It’s time to go,” Mother whispered in my ear as I lay still on my mattress, listening to the wind howl and carrying the particles of nutrient-less dust across the once flourishing land. “It’s time to say goodbye to our garden.”


           I heard Farmer McKinley whispering to Minister Raven at the farm stand late last August one day when I was trying to sell some of Mother’s cherry tomatoes fresh off the vine for five cents a piece. “Things ain’t looking good Frank,” I heard him grumble under his tobacco pipe. “We oughta move the cattle farther east before the dust storms completely wipe us out.” I cringed. I knew the dust storms were severe, but I didn’t quite believe how badly it was affecting our village—our state—our country. “The soil just ain’t the same here anymore Billy,” Minister Raven said back. “Mother Nature is only making the good ol’ Depression that much worse.”

Walking home along the dusty dirt roads that late summer day, I noticed how bland our village was becoming. The horses no longer neighed. The gardens weren’t overgrown with corn, beans, and barley. The fresh scent of sunflowers and magnolias no longer lingered. Kansas was changing, and Mother kept saying how great the land is back east for farming. “Just imagine how great our garden could be!” Mother would say to me when she saw me pick up a withering sunflower off the ground. And in that moment, I accepted the change. I knew it would be okay, as long as Mother and I had a garden, our garden, our home. “We will be able to share our flowers with the rest of the world.”