By Keith Hoerner
In that said-same second between life and death, a child is born to a woman—not quite ready. Ribbons are awarded to winners of the McCarthy County Spelling Bee. A bottle of bubbly is popped in Paris, while a Colorado man is sentenced to prison (though innocent of his crime).
The world contemplates, realigns its incongruity inside a misaligned universe, raises the shade on morning and blows out the candle—signaling night.
The moon swings low. The moment between life and death is an unending continuum. One of laughter and tears—and as in this passage—poetry and prose.
Keith Hoerner (BS, MFA) lives, teaches, and pushes words around in Southern Illinois.