Richard Manly Heiman
It’s a massively ordinary table. Granite pillars and oak wood top. One could face east, one could face west. It all depends on old or new, on what’s extraordinary. Either way I should approach with caution. I may be a festering carbuncle. A fly in the dough. I might spontaneously putrefy, a sunlit nosferatu. Is anything forgotten in the whispering booth? Shall I dance up or fall face down? Will anyone observe a teratoma in their midst?
Richard Manly Heiman lives in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada and works as a guest teacher. He is passionate about expressing his faith through poetry and short fiction. Rick is currently completing his third term in the MFA writing program with Lindenwood University, and his work has appeared in Mulberry Fork Review and Haiku Journal.