I. Flicker
A bulb flickers /
a tired eye closing /
and then / nothing.
The walls whisper.
And silence comes next /
not of peace / no /
but of ten people holding breath.
At the edge of a day unravelling /
darkness soaks our fatigue.
We look at each other /
a strange assembly /
struck / by misfortune or luck?
Huddled in a remote valley.
Lightning lashes the roof of the shed.
The children crawl from their beds /
not in fear /
but in intrigue /
as if the night itself
has opened its mouth to speak.…
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Dad drove me down and left when the car was unpacked. He’d been telling me that college would be the best four years of my life. I was put in Williamson, a storied freshman cesspool. Brick, tall, sweaty and germy. I assume Williamson was a good old sport. Very toff, I bet. The carpets were firmer than cement and the furniture, I know you know it. Stiff grainy wood and battered cushioning. And that smell! That smell that will be described, in the court papers for the class action suit, as a sort of gluey smell. An industrially gluey glue smell. An odorous omen of cancer to come! It pervaded and the rooms felt a bit like cells but that was ok I guess.
Billy and Noah were my roommates.…
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A young man is screaming in my general direction as I walk down eighty second avenue. It is one thirty in the afternoon. I am heading to work. It is Friday. He says at the beginning of time no one needed a name, which I find to be somewhat interesting. He is wearing a torn flannel, torn jeans and three hats, each torn but the last. I am running late, and despite that fact I feel the urge to ask him about himself/how his day is going, but then I see that his tent is overflowing with torn cardboard, empty cans of beer, and a mess of other items indistinguishable from one another, so I change my mind. I avoid him. It occurs to me that I do not fear this man; however, I do fear the unbearable possibility that if I don’t get to work on time, today, or the next time I run late, no matter the cause, it could be only a few short weeks or months until I become him.…
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“You have my
complete devotion,”
so the letter ends,
but I mail it
to the pond instead.
The window opens
to an eastern haven:
blackbirds, catbirds,
Carolina Wrens.
With seasons of
attention,
I learned the
Cardinal’s song.
Even if the species
went extinct,
flew away,
or settled
somewhere far,
even if I hadn’t heard
their call in years,
I would run
at once
to hear the voice
I knew by heart.
– Grace Sullivan
Author’s Note: We open in the middle of a letter to someone. The kind of person who, even when life changes, has a hold on your heart that sustains over time and distance. The “Cardinal” could be a stand-in for this person that the speaker remains loyal to in spite of discouragement.…
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Rasputin was wasted again.
From a couch in the corner, I rubbed my eyes and watched, amazed, as he lifted another bottle and polished it off. He finished with a belch and a rub of his stomach. I downed a healthy hit from my own bottle. “And good morning to you, Father Grigori.” With Rasputin on one of his rages I felt it best to join him.
Even in the feeble morning light, the monk’s deep-set eyes shimmered with intensity. “And tell me. In all your wisdom. What’s good about it?” He knocked over several empties with a swift kick. Staggering from the couch he tripped over Ivan, who was sprawled at his feet. The monk lifted his cassock, and grinning idiotically, pissed on Ivan’s head.…
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When it’s time to end things, I plan to meet my girlfriend at the least respectable bar in town, and once I’ve set a time, I show up twenty minutes late. It’s easier to cut the cord when you start off on the wrong foot. If you can disappoint them before you show your face, they’ll pretty much do the work for you, and the breakup becomes effortless.
The first thing I do, when I strut inside as if I’m right on time, is order two pints at the bar before sliding into the booth where Gillian awaits me. She’s got that raised eyebrow of impatience and sits in a tight posture, as if the discomfort of sitting alone is suffocating her. She doesn’t have a drink in front of her, and I don’t ask if she wants one.…
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Mickey Lennon, lost in thought, stepped off the curb safely into the street. The light, he knew, being solid red- it was red, he recalled, remembering that he noted that distinctly before allowing himself to wander among the thoughts he had himself queued to think- when a honking car went by him. Lunging backward, Mickey sees that the light is green. By the speed of the car, telling him that the car was able to approach the intersection without slowing and that the car didn’t recently transition from a paused state to a moving state, that the light had been green for significant time. Mickey questions the certainty of his life’s certainties. …
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