Then the traveller in the dark... Thanks you for your tiny spark

 I go on to tell him that I knew the old woman who used to occupy this bed. He seems to be listening, so I start drawing from memory how, on my first visit here, she would hunch her shoulders over her empty hands, and lift her head to gape at me, and how her mouth would breathe slowly into the air:

 

Then the traveller in the dark... Thanks you for your tiny spark... He could not see... Which way to go... If you did not twinkle so...

I sing these words for him, with a voice that is thin and barely audible, just like hers used to be. And I hope that it brings to his mind the musical mobile I have seen, in the window back home, hung between one blind and another. I hope he can fall asleep now, dreaming of reaching up, of pulling that string, to make the plush animals turn around, and go flying overhead faster and faster till all is a blur, to the sound of that silvery note, which is chiming, chiming, chiming, as if to announce a moment of birth. 

Afterwards, I cannot figure out for certain at what point my voice has trailed off, leaving me lost in a jumble of memories, fearful to open my eyes, fearful to glance at my watch, to figure out the moment, the exact moment when I have realized that I am alone. 

All I know is that somewhere along its arc, the light has crawled across the wall and leapt onto their pillow, and it is resting there now, on his open eyelids. 

It is a fairly strong light now, a glare that can blind you if you look directly into it, which strangely he seems to be doing. So I rise to my feet to pull the curtain shut, and then, in spite of myself, I glance at him. His chest barely rises. 

He lays there, having wrapped himself in my mother’s arms, his eyelashes still somewhat aflutter, his hands still shivering slightly over his heart, his face pale, nearly blue, and I know that if I would leave him at this moment to go look for Martha, the care giver, it would be over. Dad would be gone by the time I rush back. 

So I draw closer and stand there, behind the head of the bed, over my sleeping mother. From this angle, his ribs seem to move—but I think it is because of her body clinging to him, and because of her breathing, which is so deep and so peaceful. I lean over her arms to take his hands in mine, absorbing his shiver, taking it into my flesh, until finally it dies down. 

And the light, growing even brighter, washes his face, till all that is left is a smile, frozen.

The White Piano

Paperback ★ Hardcover 

Barnes&Noble

Audiobook

"Few authors would be able to pull off the manner in which the apparent polar opposites of Ben and Anita begin to bond... but Poznansky has the visual and verbal and architectural skills to create this maze and guide us through it." 

- Grady Harp, HALL OF FAME reviewer

A lady's man

This guy -- a lady man, for sure -- is going to star in my next animation. Stay tuned!

One hell of a wild ride!

A lifelong reader, Cynthia Hamilton turned to writing in 2000 as a means of coping with a debilitating illness. She now has 13 books in print, all of which are available on Amazon. I am greatly honored that she read my thriller, Overdue, and wrote a great review for it:

Cynthia Hamilton

5.0 out of 5 stars One hell of a wild ride!

Reviewed in the United States on August 22, 2023

Verified Purchase

The action in OVERDUE starts in the first line and it doesn’t let up. The pace is at a gallop, and the tension and madcap adventure continues all the way to the end. The characters that populate the book are a quirky and dangerous blend of twisted pranksters and murderous thugs. It’s impossible not to laugh at the way they are portrayed, these menaces to society, despite their odiousness and ghoulish plans. They are wild characters without fear, hellbent on wreaking havoc.

While all this criminal activity is afoot, the protagonists―Ash and her boyfriend―are blissfully unaware of the mayhem coming their way. They are adjusting to the new rules under the pandemic as best they can, and they blithely sidestep the chaos until they are completely surrounded by it and seriously outnumbered.

But even then, Ash, is not without her wits or resources.

This is one of those highly entertaining yarns that keeps the pedal to the metal from start to finish. The predicaments Ash finds herself in are laugh out loud funny, as well as seriously creepy. I read this book in two settings while recovering from an illness and it was the perfect pick-me-up. I really look forward to reading more by this talented author!

Dust -- my stop-motion animation

My stop-motion animation is complete, please check it out.

It is based on my dance sculptures (clay and bronze) and a poem-duet I wrote the night I started creating the first sculpture in this series.

The poem is narrated by brilliant voice actors, Heather Jane Hogan and Bob Sterry, with whom I collaborated on my audiobooks. Please kick the volume up to enjoy their voices.

One way for Vlad to avoid me, avoid paying the price for his crimes, is to play dead

 One way for Vlad to avoid me, avoid paying the price for his crimes, is to play dead; another is to play dying. And who knows, perhaps it’s for real. Perhaps it’s not a game. 

Still, I can’t help but remain on guard, even if to others, it may seem pointless. Last time I saw him—about half a year ago—he lay contorted on the stretched hospital sheet, seemingly immobile, and never once lifted an eyelid to meet my gaze, which brought pity to my heart—but didn’t expunge the fear. 

I keep telling myself there’s no reason anymore to be cautious. I shot him, and now he’s said to be in a coma. About that, I have my doubts. Having spent enough time in his company before the hit, I know him all too well. Vlad rejoices in the pain he inflicts. To him, it means being in charge. He is not likely to relinquish it. Even if his power slips away, it’s not going to be for long.

My brush with his Russian gang is something I’d like to forget. It left me struggling to piece my life together. Like an ink stain, the memory of what happened to me in their hands is somewhat shapeless and yet—indelible. Perhaps the only thing I can do now is give it more definition. If only I can learn his secrets.

I try to think the way he does. What would Vlad do now that the police arrested most of his gang, now that he is no longer in control? He would bide his time until finding the right moment to grab it again. And what better place to lay low than a hospital bed?

My boyfriend, Michael, says I’m overly suspicious. There’s no way to fake being in a coma. I do want to believe that—but having been diagnosed a few months ago as a vegetable myself, I know from experience that faking it is not entirely out of the question. Especially when you start to regain your senses, and no one but you knows you’re already alert.

So I just smile at him and say, “Time will tell.” 

Overdue

(Volume IV of Ash Suspense Thrillers with a Dash of Romance)

 Paperback ★ Hardcover

Audiobook

Animation snippet "Our limbs entwined"

 So by now I'm seeing the end-of-the-tunnel of my three-minute animation. This snippet is one of my favorites, because it requires the animator (me) to think about not only the motion of the figures but more importantly, of how they express their feelings.

Stay tuned for more...

Can bronze sculptures fly?

 Did you know bronze sculptures can fly? 

This is another snippet for my upcoming animation. Stay tuned...