It's Still Life

Clinging to Small Solid Facts in Six Sentences

We talk about Venezuela, as if naming it might steady the water, and I drift in the jacuzzi like a bubble, briefly convinced of my own shape.

I mention that Einstein had flat feet — facts don’t ask questions because saying something solid feels like ballast against a world that won’t slow by force or reason.

My grandson sits by the pool and cries because I leave on Monday; the future has already begun without asking him. I tell him life is made of goodbyes but stocked with more hellos than sorrow can carry, and to practice noticing those first.

The bubble spins, rises, sinks, flashing like a sunlit diamond pretending permanence. It goes too far, too fast, and disappears — not broken, not taken, only released, having finally learned what it was.

Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “force”.  Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2026.