He angles his cart in the middle of the bread aisle. When she clears her throat, he mutters Sorry and looks at her feet. He’d singled her out because of her sandals, thinking it would be good to start with a solid foundation. He studies the length of her toes, shape of her ankles. When she clears her throat again, he moves aside.
—
There are so many vegetables to squeeze and thump in produce. He hears wheels squeak and sneaks a peek. She’s not as tall as the bread woman. She reaches for a tomato, her long fingers a tiny bridge. He takes in the creases of her knuckles and every chip in her bright red polish.
—
Most places, like the streets, are either too crowded or empty.… ...continue reading
Noah tapped the pocket of his swim trunks once, twice, three times, making sure he had his keys, phone and wallet. He checked the front seat, the back, and the cargo space beyond, making certain he had everything.
The twins, Natalie and Leo, stood by quietly, knowing from experience that interruptions generally resulted in additional delays.
“Right, let’s go then!” their dad said at last. Noah adjusted his backpack, slung a folding tent and a beach chair over his shoulders and tucked a boogie board under each arm. He took each child by the hand for the journey across the parking lot.
“We passed this before,” Leo noted.
Noah had circled the open lots several times before deciding where to park but he didn’t think the kids had noticed.… ...continue reading
Of Virginia Woolf
‘We are the words. We are the music. We are the thing itself.’ Moments of Being
Are we the things we think we are?
Or is there another music
with words we have never heard?
Something close to the heart
becomes the essence of us,
a truth enabling the sense to be
what is spoken, what is sung.
This sound evades the silence.
There lies the fear within,
of never being believed.… ...continue reading
We were supposed to be having babies,
Raising life in a little historic townhouse
Ideally downtown, so that I could walk
To the coffee shop everyday with the
Dog and the kids.
I wonder if we would have had a girl
First, or a boy.
Would we have stopped at one? Two?
Surely not three.
Would we have taken family photos
At every holiday and have large canvases
Of our smiling faces covering the walls?
Would we have worn matching outfits–
After you pitched a fit of course–
Or would we be more subtle,
Maybe some matching shoes?
Would our daughter have my nose and
Our son, your eyes?
I can see us now–
Curled up in bed, with the dog in between
My legs, a spunky pigtailed daughter
Kicking my ribs in her sleep,
And a mousy younger brother who
Accidentally knocks over the collection
Of bottles on your bedside table– crying
Because daddy hasn’t had much sleep
And is quick to anger when hungover–
The floor covered in shit because the
Dog was not let out before you
Stumbled into bed
And me, eyes wide open
But stiff as a board
Not minding the
Repeated jabs in the ribs.… ...continue reading
There is something sinister in the strings.
Brooding underskirts comment and rustle outside and between legs.
Invisible undergarments bustle and bounce making wearers levitate to the floor.
And on some days you can dance love,
And on others passion, or sorrow, or joy.
But today under uncertain cellos,
The waltz is forgiveness.
Love
Hate
Late.
I catch you in my blinking eye, straight ahead, a few comfortable handbreadths away.
An eye and face familiar, inviting, like a favorite overstuffed chair
Or warm quilt, heavy blankets, slip inside shivering and kicking until burning and have to stick one foot out into the cold.
Or a favorite story that’s been told over and over again until every inflection of every word is known before it’s said,
While I drift off and pull my leg back into bed.… ...continue reading
I played my part. I went to war
for you every day. I couldn’t foretell disaster.
But I knew this connection was temporary.
I provided an end to a means. I was the portal
to your survival. I was your everlasting god.
I took that as a privilege. I never withheld
support. You never needed triage or bravery.
Things were mildly disconcerting once,
but I did my magic. I stopped interference
quickly and valiantly. No one gave me laurels
or tried to hang a medal around my neck.
(But who needs a neck for this kind of work?)
One day, without warning, we were thrust
into the light, a scary premise for all that time
sitting in the dark, waiting. As I said, I had
a feeling this would happen.… ...continue reading
Bananas
Woody’s eyes were only half open. He was debating closing them and trying to sleep for a few minutes on the bus as it was slowly zipping along – that’s how he explained it to Louie, his drinking buddy: “In rush hour traffic, the bus can’t do better than zipping slowly. But it’s cheaper than driving and paying for parking. And I can get another fifteen minutes sleep. Got a great internal alarm clock. Diiing -ding -ding.” And he’d always make sure to ding a couple of times before slamming his hand down on the table or the bar where they were drinking.
And since the bus was zipping along he saw the white cake box on the curb for less than a second before it disappeared, “erased in the bus wash” was how he put it that very night in Jerry’s Jug.… ...continue reading