“Okay, that should be everything.” I said to myself, pulling my dark hair out of my face and rushing to tie up my worn boots. Resting my backpack on my shoulders, I felt the pressure of 50 pounds of overbearing force weigh me down all at once. Even just standing with it was tiring, and the equally as heavy duffle bag wasn’t doing my arm any favors. I took a deep breath and told myself the drive and the hike up the hill would be quick, and I hopefully wouldn’t be carrying this dead weight for long. Roughly tossing my bags in the trunk of my beaten old BMW, I slammed it closed and entered the driver’s seat. I really should clean the inside of my car next, I noted to myself.…
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After living most of my life inner-city — the only water nearby being the Hudson, the river with an attitude, and what came out of our faucets — I never developed a passion for or even a passing interest in the ocean. Never craved a day at the beach, never felt I was missing out on anything seashore-related. Wouldn’t you know it, after marriage, I ended up living an eight-minute walk from a beach — a beach with a boardwalk, restaurants, mini golf, joggers, dog walkers, and so many toddler-filled strollers. Where I live now, there are several nearby marinas, and 25 years ago, ten years after we were married, my husband — an avid fisherman and lover of the sea — bought a boat. I’ve still never been on it.…
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Today I ordered towels. And I did a lot of worrying. It’s what I do best. Practice makes perfect, as my mother used to say.
I wasn’t worried about the towels. (That’s a lie – I was concerned that they were going to be rougher than described). I was concerned about the state of the world. But since there’s little I can do about that, and there’s a lot I can do about frayed bath towels, I ordered fresh ones. And it felt great to fix a problem.
I have a friend who likes to order candles. Not for lighting, but mood. To me this seems out of hand. But she says she finds it a consolation; and the endless choice of scents, a diversion. So who am I to judge?…
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When you got out of the car to hug me,
I was the only person on earth,
and my troubles slipped like paint
drips (in a bedroom, somewhere in Ohio).
It’s fresh outside. The white buds of a bush
can’t keep their eyes open and there might be
cloud consequences in the after-
noon. For now, my nails are red and my face is
peeling from sunburn. You’re out
of your red car with your arms around me
still. And I can’t shake the feeling
something’s wrong and you’re not telling.
But I don’t ask. I just wait for you
to break the silence.
– Rebecca Ferlotti
Note: This piece was previously published in the Cuyahoga County Public Library Poetry Anthology (2015)…
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We get out of Donna’s glossy midnight-blue BMW. The air is filled with spikes. It’s not supposed to be cold in the tropics but tonight is special. We’ve finally done what we’ve been threatening to do since we were teenagers. Poor Anwar. He’s just the in-between person in this, if you ask me, but the judge will say he’s the victim and the cause.
Donna lifts the cradle out of the back seat and throws it against a large dark tree. “That’s what you get for forgetting your roots,” she says, softer than I’d expected. I saunter towards the tree, spit into the cradle and bless it three times with my open palm.
“You know, I never trusted him.” Donna raises her hands and dusts it in the cool air.…
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In the infancy of humankind, during the age in which our ancestors struggled against not only each other, but other equally fearsome beasts, the most important discovery came from the hands of a woman. She was called Zar, and through much trial and error, she learned how to start and nurse a small flame into a healthy blaze with only sticks and her hands, which no one had ever seen. She was a proto-Prometheus, stealing from gods that had not yet been named. Her partner, Qoh, often entertained the group with his own accompanying talent: the singing of stories. As they felt the heat of Zar’s fire radiating through their bones and sinew amid the icy chill, the weary crowd would listen enraptured as Qoh sang tall tales like this:
“Long ago, before even our fathers walked the earth, there was a Man.…
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I think the Monster is in love with me. Ever since it arrived in the city, it’s been following me everywhere. When I go for a run in the park, it jumps out from behind a bush and runs after me. When I get home from work, it’s there at the front door waiting for me. I’m not sure how to deal with this situation. No one else seems to think it is a problem.
“It’s actually kind of cute,” My friend Laura says.
”It’s not cute, it’s horrible,”
“Admit it, you kind of like it.”
“I don’t.”
Truthfully, so few people love me it’s hard not to feel grateful to whoever does, even if it happens to be something that – quite literally – has escaped from hell.…
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