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
A crimson glimmered beneath its jaws in the moonlight. It latched onto Silas’ neck and thrashed until he stilled.
Aries’ eyes widened in shock – processing.
The jaws crunched on its prey, salivating and indulging. Suddenly, the wolf stopped. It looked up. Its eyes glowing red with fury and desire.
“Aries!” His mother’s hooves thundered as she dragged him away and abandoned their friend to his fate.
The cold, brisk headwind grazed their faces as their hooves struggled through the deep snow. The wolf howled behind them, the malicious sound echoing throughout the entire mountain range.
Several moons had passed since the incident, yet Aries remained stuck there. He recounted the events, picking it apart piece by piece, bargaining, begging, despairing.
The afternoon sun acted only as a light in the hazy sky, selfishly withholding its warmth as though it were a child withholding candy.… ...continue reading
— After “What Goes Around” by G. E. Stinson
Drop a pebble into the water
Snap your finger, cry your name
And the circle
The perfect circle slowly leaves
The perfect circle raggedly finds.
One day waves click drums and hammers
One day waves will reach the shore
And the circle
Goes around
It comes around
It goes around once more.
Light a candle in the darkness
Somewhere someone finds a door.
You can will the rain into a stream,
Cry your words into the sky and floor.
You are the only one who hears
You are the only one who reads.
I can feel the water on my feet
The same as yesterday and last year,
Water of this river, of this sea
I can tell you I’ve have been here before
And have never been here before
You speak
The world turns around
I speak
The world turns around
Words turn into water
Streams run across the sky
And return to the sea
You speak and the words return to me.… ...continue reading
He offered me a free bottle
Cheap red.
Left on his porch
Late in the evening.
No strings attached.
He worked for the wine company,
Or maybe a bar.
We wouldn’t have to meet
Face to face.
He would never know my
Name.
And I,
His.… ...continue reading
Pacing my living room at 0617 while my phone was charging, I told my left knee to not act up. This was and had long been the day, a mental red circle around the last Sunday of April. My first real walk without crutches, a taste of what had been and will be again.
I decided to be bold and head for the base of Ulriken Mountain. Forty minutes at the most. Almost no nature involved, only streets and a four-hundred-yard stretch of rough and stony path turning steep at the end. Four years ago, I did another street walk on an early Sunday morning. The city of Bergen, Norway sleeps in on weekends and I was walking through deserted streets thinking about this desertion: even the dog-owners are getting lazy, when I felt something was wrong in a deep way I seldom feel.… ...continue reading
They told her she couldn’t enter a conversation or a relationship or a room without stepping slowly, without nervously reaching into the darkness and feeling around for something to anchor her. They told her that it wasn’t that she was careful. Being careful made sense. They told her it was because she was afraid. And maybe they were right. Maybe it was fear. Maybe she’d just been telling herself it was smart—logical even—that just about everything made her feel terrified: an eager smile from someone she only kind of knew, a call she wasn’t expecting, an awkward moment or mistake or regret from the past that she was reliving again. Everything made her head feel so loud, so full of voices that she only faintly recognized, all arguing and shaming her until they were all she could hear.… ...continue reading
walking down a new street
at night, I lost a poem.
Drizzle beaded on lampposts;
mist circled the bare bulbs
suspended like electric moons.
Silent houses crouched together,
warmed by glowing porch lights.
An airplane disappeared
behind cloud smudges;
dripping elms flanked
the yellow “No Outlet” sign.
In the sodden dark,
the vast alone had shrunk
to one block, one house
on a leaf-wet street
where someone once lived.
– Lynn D. Gilbert
Author’s Note: This poem started out with losing a poem I was writing and ended up by losing myself.
… ...continue reading