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omments email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest monday july 8 2024 22 light years to you i m pleased to announce the publication of my third novel 22 light years to you which is now available as an ebook across these platforms amazon amazon uk apple barnes noble kobo smashwords synopsis every life has an arrow of time it starts at the beginning and runs to the end but not for amy gallagher as an astrophysicist amy has a different conception of time and now with the help of the james webb space telescope she is poised to reassemble the events of the past by studying light from the first known stars in much the same way 22 light years to you redshifts amy s own life reversing the arrow of time from the year 2022 to the night she first met her husband greg in october 2000 following the chain of octobers past we see how amy s transgendered teen both is and isn t the person he was as a child how the love amy feels for her second husband is but a dim reflection of the passion she knew with greg who fell or jumped to his death in 2015 how amy s best friend dee who grew up black in the same white bread appalachian foothills that amy did has a very different story to tell about the two women s friendship and about the country unraveling around them most lives carry an inflection point a big bang moment separating before from after the farther we drift from that seismic event the harder it is to imagine an alternative but what amy comes to understand is that fate is a story we tell ourselves to cover for the mistakes of the past and that love is a force beyond all reason a special relativity that binds and shapes posted by sarah hina at 7 50 pm no comments email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest wednesday january 18 2023 white rabbit rabbit 2 by rudolph kusow remember the awe you felt after the magic act what if the magician reached so deep inside his magic hat that abracadabra he pulled himself in is death any less mysterious or galling i felt bad for the bunny even as a kid offered up as an answer it can t comprehend shocked every night by the light and applause what terror there is in innocence posted by sarah hina at 10 42 am no comments email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest monday december 26 2022 can the circle be unbroken dad died on christmas day i held his hand in the nursing home room and together we listened to the carter family play then i told him to let go and he did it was the most precious thing dad dying on christmas day posted by sarah hina at 8 53 am 1 comment email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest thursday december 8 2022 nowheres detail from sunrise with sea monsters by j m w turner i lean in to kiss him goodbye but i can t kiss away the smoke in his eyes you ve been a good dad i whisper in his ear both of us now on the verge of tears his confusion turning me clear this demon dementia unloosing our tension father daughter the expectation of sorrow all of it crumbling on a bridge to nowheres posted by sarah hina at 10 13 am no comments email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest wednesday october 16 2019 of faith from the dark side of the sunlit glass i watch a squirrel without fear leap from one trunk to another tree s limb does her stomach drop as the slim arm bends down in surprise and back up again or is she merely an arrow the spoke of one thought indifferent to autumn s vainglorious shouts fixed on the task of a half complete nest where the work of her body must purse like a comma pausing and pregnant with what comes after the tree has jettisoned its leaves and the snow falls silent and godless and cold posted by sarah hina at 10 17 am 4 comments email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest tuesday may 28 2019 deleted ww moby dick by ilya nimo pulled for submission posted by sarah hina at 1 19 pm 1 comment email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest monday april 15 2019 sword people red wood cutting by vladimir cush hey what the fuck there s a sword in my chest this is how it begins you can t believe it you see the sword you feel the sword but the sword doesn t register the initial shock waves carry you through the first days and then weeks it hurts having a sword stuck in your chest and what s worse it hurts to see other people good people in the same boat as you you recognize each other from a distance that is one consolation these are your people now all of you resolve with frantic phone calls and nightly incantations to never forgive the people who stuck the swords through your ribs caressing your vital organs with their teeth because fuck that why would you they knew what they were doing most of the sword stabbers admit quite happily to the desire to do it again it seems they ve grown an appetite for it babies wish they d sleep so well it s exhausting waking up every day with a sword sticking out of your chest it s also can we just say it a little boring there are other things you d rather be thinking about than navigating the world in this awkward painful fashion for the first year you expect the sword to be removed possibly by a hero in training or a magic spell conjured by a passing crone but you ve tried everything you can think of and the thing won t budge it s as if the sword was a sword and your chest were a stone and if that s a crappy analogy it s because analogies are harder to come by now creativity yes also a stone you d like very much to forget your sword but the damn thing keeps getting in the way even seemingly trivial tasks like eating in a restaurant or talking to your neighbor whose chest is mercifully free of sharp sabers takes special effort provoking spasms of anxiety and second guessing you don t want to hate your neighbor who once lent you his grass trimmer and who has two terriers he dresses in funny sweaters when the weather turns cold but you re troubled by his unblemished chest cavity and the way his smooth flannel shirt buttons all the way up his neck more than that you hate the way his eyes flash down to your sword whenever he s speaking to you you think you read contempt in his eyes though it could also be allergies your judgment feels skewed is gravity off somehow there is some added weight oh right the sword sometimes you d like to butt him with it whack him good and hard ass down to dirt but you don t you won t you mustn t because manners for one also you re better than them it s not like you to be angry or vengeful you don t enjoy anger were never one of those half cocked people who sucked on its fumes like astro fuel nor are you a saint if it were up to you and it s not you d rather leave the disillusionment and uphill battles to others the broken hearted the organizers the artists and gardeners still you have a sword sticking out of your chest and somebody lots of somebodies helped put it there after the first year you begin to examine their intentions more coolly recognizing their contributions to their communities and families how their soft metal reason had been hammered into armor by slick tongued carnival barkers and money whisperers probably to protect some monstrous sadness within you hope you begin to entertain the notion that forgiveness is conceivable because if nothing else you re alive and you have the power to forgive you imagine yourself lighter angelic free of all earthly entanglements jesus you imagine jesus the truth is that sword would be there with or without your neighbor your boss your mother and father sixty three million people helped wedge it in there nice and tight with a shrug or a grunt eyes open or shut depending on the deed s distaste to them individually each sinner s sin tips the balance but slight perhaps it s you who s stuck in some holier than thou state martyrs like to mix up for themselves life is short just ask the corpses with swords sticking out of their chests you have to step over on the way home from work you might be the hero in training your neighbor your boss your parents require you re not just your flesh you re also the love you shine in the wo damn it you wake up in the wrong position and the sword has perforated an artery did somebody come into your room last night and sit down on your chest was that imagined it seems unlikely have you been dreaming why is reality so squiggly of late do you need glasses is the car engine running who let the dog out oh right it was you oh right you don t have a dog a very real thing is the blood soaking up your sheets darn it you stuff more gauze inside the hole in your chest change your sheets flip the mattress but the pain persists dull and affable it s a different flavor of pain two years in than it was at the outset it has contours and confidence and throws its roots out like ticklers but you are benumbed detachment your drug of cowardice lately when running across another sword person both of you avoid looking at each other s chests are careful to position yourself in a way that reduces the incidence of any ramming or clanging the sheer persistence of your maladies is embarrassing to you both even swords bespeak a powerlessness and what s the point in rehashing it all blindness is a kind of peace now though is there a prescription outside of submission or pain leaning hilt first into the wall you deliberate for many months sliding in and out of consciousness winter passing into spring while sunlight spreads a sticky warmth across your eyeballs like a tarnish marching over wedding silver there is a sword sticking out of your chest you think it will never quite finish the job but right now with your eyes closed you can feel your heart protest its tip with each beat it isn t right it s still not right you fill your lungs and breathe pausing at maximum intake before letting it out with a shudder nope your eyes open you still hate those motherfuckers and that you can t forgive posted by sarah hina at 11 01 am no comments email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest monday march 25 2019 kissing the dirt god help me i ve lost my faith in the world which isn t the same as losing my love or my fight for it rather i know where i am on my knees lips touching dirt while something very large and distracted is pressing its boot to my neck why be instilled with a sense of justice if justice means nothing everywhere i look terrible people are getting away with terrible things while their cheering sections jeer and crow celebrating a superficial and cancerous certainty replacing problems with wins meanwhile spring has come and nature is putting her hope in pretty things have you seen the daffodils do they still impress when the sunshine fills them like torches and their brightness lights your way home from work i want to join you there i want so badly to believe it s all that s needed i miss so much my reveries and dreams but i still remember a spring three or four years ago when our dog discovered a nest of baby bunnies in our backyard and proceeded to swallow them one by one before i could do anything to stop it the tiny creatures screaming from their pink and tender lungs and me screaming from mine long after the deed was done you just ate you weren t even hungry he wasn t sorry but for months afterward i felt differently toward him however unfair the charge against instinct and nature which manages to be both pretty and terrible without any evidence of internal contradiction then time stepped in and covered things up as time does and i gradually returned to finding him adorable he still goes out there at this time of year to eagerly sniff and paw at the ground and i love the beast in spite of his beastliness i love this world not like a child anymore but like a parent does guardedly sadly with loss always threatening and making the heart sore i have no control when it comes to politics or the truth s distortion or the monstrous pretenders who have their hands on the ropes all i can do is look for the baby bunnies each spring before letting the dog out and fill my bird feeder with birdseed and turn off twitter when i m choked with sadness or anger and love my children who just this year have grown taller than i and keep putting pen to paper to try and defend the charge of beauty for one more day and tender hour posted by sarah hina at 2 59 pm 4 comments email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest saturday january 6 2018 new photo credit here it s too cold she says i can t bear the thought of those sheets on my skin or these hands he says or those hands a simple kiss then your kisses are never that simple he sniffs somebody s awfully full of herself wearing seven layers of clothes a bunchy robe and some indeterminate number of socks i thought all that just made me more mysterious he thinks for a moment depends is that an invitation no ah then no not mysterious just bunchy come on let s lie down side by side in the dark with our warm lovely layers on we can wait for the new year just like this before going to bed like proper middle aged people he turns off the bed stand light her breath catches glow in the dark stars appear on their bedroom ceiling coursing with a gentle light when did you she asks turning on her side to face him today right before lunch just after huh well i like this quite a bit i thought you might i like it so well i may have to kiss you and what if i don t want your kiss what if i just want to lie here wait for the old year to die and then go to sleep like the boring middle aged person i am oh don t worry you don t i don t no in fact this was your plan all along in fact he says turning to face her it was she leans in to kiss him he is warm and lovely and deeply good she wriggles the toes inside her two pairs of socks and slings a leg across his you make me happy she says into his ear before catching his mouth with her own a star drops from the ceiling and lands atop her cheek she brushes it away hopes for more this is the first piece of flash fiction i ve written in quite awhile and continues my new series begun back in 2008 happy new year to all of you let s all endeavor to stay warm and open posted by sarah hina at 6 01 pm 9 comments email this blogthis share to x share to facebook share to pinterest older posts home subscribe to posts atom about me sarah hina i m a writer wife and mom of two view my complete profile followers my latest book yawps and murmurs paul hina versewrights chick with a quill cyborg menagerie jaye wells jennifer zobair keeping secrets lyrics and maladies meanderings and reflections melody of dissonance my poems and emotions old mossy moon on the front porch one word one rung one day piedmont writer razored zen the education of a pulp writer the intangible but significant part of me the struggling writer the walking man blog archive 2025 1 june 1 24 2024 1 july 1 2023 1 january 1 2022 2 december 2 2019 4 octobe...