- June 8, 2017 was the two year anniversary of MSakran.com.
- The twenty ninth set of photography, artwork, poetry and fiction is below. Set twenty eight can be found on the Photography, Artwork, Poetry and Fiction page.
- On April 25, 2017, M. Sakran had a poem published with Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY. The poem can be read here: poem.
- In the Summer 2015 Issue of Modern Haiku, Issue 46.2, M. Sakran had a haiku published. The haiku is on page 88 of the issue.
Current photography, artwork, poetry and fiction:
What will happen?
What will happen,
a mind thinks,
on the porch,
in the chair with wheels?
things are gathered,
for the one hour,
of learning what a toddler knows.
The mind flows,
seeing the place,
in an entirety.
Will things flow,
and like a moth,
will wings flap,
and life move?
will life be,
like that banana,
left too far back,
on the counter,
where from the chair,
it could not be reached.
A Short Story
Like a moth or like a banana
He sat there still, looking out beyond the rails. He felt himself in the chair and noticed the feel of it in a way he hadn't two months before.
He sat there, thinking of the day, thinking of the car, and thinking in one blur of all that happened after. It's strange, he thought to himself, how a person can go through something, that if they had been told about it before, they would have run in fear.
So he sat there and started to think. He realized he had been thrown off the path he was mindlessly following before and wondered where the train would take him now.
Inside he heard the noise. The keys, the coat, the bag. The gathering. The preparation. The, "Is there anything else?" For some reason, going to physical therapy always seemed like a road trip. It always seemed like it was five hundred miles, instead of fifteen. Maybe it was because she, somewhere inside, did not really want to go. He thought about it from her perspective, but somehow couldn't encapsulate what it must be like to watch someone try to learn to walk. For some reason, he thought there must be a frustration to it. Something different from the joy of watching a child learn. He thought, that maybe a person couldn't understand why something so easy for them, could be so hard for someone else. He didn't know. He could only understanding it from the other side. He could only understand it from the perspective of the person hold themselves up between the bars and feeling their shoulders burn as they tried to move six inches.
His mind cleared again and again he looked beyond the rails. He saw the houses, the lawns, the trees, the cars and the sky. It all seemed to be one thing. Nothing felt distinct. He sat there looking, and seeing it all as just a painting.
He had a moment, of hope. A strange lifting of a weight. A strange euphoria. He imagined, as he looked out at the painting, walking. He imagined standing up from the chair. He imagined a walker, leg braces, then a cane, then nothing. He imagined moving. He felt himself kick his legs out, the kinks leave, and his muscles stretch. He felt himself up from the chair and moving in the painting, in a sense of weightlessness.
But there was a sound. The door opened behind him. He saw her move to the car with things. She would put them in first, get the car ready and come back for him. He felt like a thing. He was something to be handled. To be dealt with.
As he waited, his mind wandered inside. He remembered the gnats in the kitchen. They were flying there because of the banana. It was on the counter, back against the wall.
The first time he saw it, it was green and light yellow. He tried to reach it, but only being able to lift an inch from his chair, he was six inches off. The first day he tried once, but then rolled on. The second day, he tried again, almost as a game. He lost. On the third day, it became a weight. It became a struggle. For reason, the banana made him cry. He didn't want the situation to win. He didn't want the situation to beat him. He felt his frustration grow, and his spirit fall as he tried again and again. There was something demoralizing to go from not caring, to a game, to "You'll never beat me!", to being beaten. For some reason, as the banana started to turn brown, he couldn't ask for help.
He sat there, feeling his weight in the chair and wondered if he would be the banana. Would he be too far away for effort to reach? Would he be too far from hope? He wondered how his appearance would change if he was kept in the chair.
As he thought, she came back, and not saying anything, started to wheel him toward the car.