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The Hats We Wear — MB Davis

“WYSINEC (What You See is Not Even Close)” — Maria B. Davis

“Do you feel as overwhelmed as I do?”

“Yes.”, I reply. I press the phone to my left ear while turning the phone’s volume down. I know the conversation will soon become serious and I don’t want others to hear as I move to a more private space.

We talk about the craziness of the world — feeling unheard and dismissed. She cries, I listen. Working with people is hard and it’s become increasingly difficult with current world events — a pandemic, marches and rallies for racial and social justice, a recession. Physical isolation has become both a blessing and…

A holiday video.

Commercial Historic Downtown Angola, Indiana

This is an archived memory. Sometimes extraordinary things happen in ordinary places. It felt like this was one of those times.

Soldier’s Monument | November 2018

Together again.

“James” photo by Maria B. Davis

My hair is dark.

My eyes are brown.

I am the color of sand.

Rocks and shells disintegrated into tiny particles by a blue and green ocean and carried in its powerful current to be spread across the world to distant shores.

I was once whole like the rocks and shells that protected their living hosts, but now…

I’ve been crushed by the power of society’s waves, the pressure and weight breaking bits and pieces of self away, to be lost and held by the hearts and clenched hands of lovers, friends, family, and those who take those…

The sound of crows breaks through the silence of the warm, muggy morning. The sun has barely risen and yet the blue-black birds outside have decided to announce their arrival with loud shrieks, as if their lives depended on it. Sometimes I hate mornings. They remind me that the joy of waking from a dreamless night must be akin to being awaken from the dead.

Rubbing my eyes, I stare at the ceiling and take a deep breath in resignation that my day is beginning and I must rise to meet it. I pray for five more minutes in bed…

Life is too short. Be who you are.

To the child inside me, you and Mom were immortal. It took me a long time to truly understand that you were getting older, even though I could look in the mirror and easily see my own age.

Six days. That’s all it took for you to walk through the hospital doors with a smile…to end up in hospice at home to die, unable to speak, move, or open your eyes. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be there with you and Mom the whole time. I think of you often. I worry about her often, now that she’s without you…

Stock photo from Stock Unlimited

I am a Salmon.

I am a salmon that swims upstream with the goal and hope that the next generation will get the same chance...or better.

Stock photo from Stock Unlimited

Stray wisps of clouds drift between a layer of white and the bright blue sky. Sun glints off the jet plane’s wing. The loud hum of the engine and the view out the window leave me to my thoughts. This is the last leg of the trip home. I feel old…worn…disconnected. The night before was sleepless-the fruits of my labor left to rot. If I could have, I would have laughed. Instead, I drank.

I know time will heal my bruised and broken ego. Until then, I’ll ruminate on what should have happened, flip flop between relief and failure, and try to believe that what did happen is as it should be.

The air felt thick and heavy against her skin, like tiny pinpricks of ice burrowing into her flesh and deep down into her bones. In only a flowing white gown; she was desperately aware of how underdressed she was, feeling somehow that she had been in this situation before, although not entirely aware of how or when. The adrenaline of anticipation and the claustrophobic atmosphere filled her with nausea and an urge to run.

Instantly aware of another presence in her midst, she whirled to see, but could only peer into the shallow, icy fog that enveloped her. She tried…


Older, but not necessarily wiser. I look ahead, keeping the past in mind. It shapes who I am without defining me, forever changing, hopefully for the better.

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