It's been a while since I've picked up a pen and written down a rhyme. So here it comes, after a mini-vacay from hittin' the sheets (of paper, that is!) Happy Thursday, everyone!
I wake up, my hair in knots
my toes are cold, my cheeks are hot
pressed against the pillow case
a tired and aging face
I slip on my socks and shift across the hard wood
pull on my cotton pants, adjust my sweatshirt hood
reach into the cupboard, pull out the coffee tin
measure one scoop, two, three..add water, dive in
Can't find my toothbrush, my lips are dry
splash water on my skin, watch droplets fly
return to the coffee mug on the table top
await the sunshine, pray the rain soon will stop
Pick up the phone, dial the number on my mind
bring up conversations, any topic I can find
he doesn't answer, I'm not surprised
hang up, no message, close my eyes
Wipe away steam, tears, from coffee or a broken heart
just in time for the lightning strike, the thunder starts
turn on the radio, people murmur nothing new
I turn the off the sound and think for a few
Street lights flicker off, the rain now a misty gray-white
the sun fights the cloud cover and pronounces daylight
a door slams out in the stairwell, the world starts to wake
take the towels from the dryer, give the sheets a shake
The phone rings, I run in the bedroom where it sits
just my brother, I'll call later, unless I forget
return to the kitchen, pour another cup coffee
as he does the same, somewhere far from here, without me.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Tuesday- A Poem
It's the week of the democratic convention- streets are crowded, police are blocking the road ways, work hours are scattered, and the grey sky is about to wail. So I'm sitting at my desk with a coffee in hand trying to keep my mind on work matters... but obviously it drifts to writing poetry...
She pops the top to a glass bottle coke, then
felt the fizz fall over her heart still broken
counting sidewalk tiles and bus line tokens
accumulating like all of her words gone unspoken
It's another day among the autumn clouds
lost in the pain of love not found
she has a hard time looking up while always falling down
wiping away bruises breathlessly without a sound
The flourescents flicker across tear stained cheeks
She'd been caught up in his memory for weeks upon weeks
but it's rare for her to listen when her heart speaks
reminding her of photograph-now certified antiques
Always blind to the lure of glittering gold
she found life was nothing like she had been told
possibilities came and went-some leased then sold
left her with nothing but the fear of being alone and old
They say girls before guys, like maturity is a race
but he gets the gold, every blue ribbon in this case
Time waits for no one in this crazy place
I'll sink below the shadows- dissolve without a trace
She pops the top to a glass bottle coke, then
felt the fizz fall over her heart still broken
counting sidewalk tiles and bus line tokens
accumulating like all of her words gone unspoken
It's another day among the autumn clouds
lost in the pain of love not found
she has a hard time looking up while always falling down
wiping away bruises breathlessly without a sound
The flourescents flicker across tear stained cheeks
She'd been caught up in his memory for weeks upon weeks
but it's rare for her to listen when her heart speaks
reminding her of photograph-now certified antiques
Always blind to the lure of glittering gold
she found life was nothing like she had been told
possibilities came and went-some leased then sold
left her with nothing but the fear of being alone and old
They say girls before guys, like maturity is a race
but he gets the gold, every blue ribbon in this case
Time waits for no one in this crazy place
I'll sink below the shadows- dissolve without a trace
Friday, August 24, 2012
The Mixtape-A Short Story
She thought about him a lot. She still does, really. She asks herself constantly...Why had she once "held out" when she should have been "holding on?" She whispers these thoughts in prayers at night, her eyes closed tighter than the pores in the sidewalk. Tears saturating the concrete and inching down her cheek like miniscule pools of blood from a paper cut. Mixed with mascara, it stains her skin only to leave a hint of regret. "Well," she thought as she sleepily stares at the shale remnants in the mirror upon waking, "I'm glad no one will see these but me." She wipes them away with her sleeve and tip toes into the shower.
A picture, a comment, a string of familiar melodies. She swallows hard at each and every one. Suddenly, a memory dances on the rain-soaked windowsill. A mix tape from their first dance. At the time, it seemed dismissive- a silly high school crush that entertained the thought of being cared for by the opposite sex. "Oh," she thought, "this'll pass and he'll see I'm no good for him."
A wooden trinket box, carved by hand. Delicate and precise down to the brass hinges that were silent when she opened the top. "Happy Birthday" he said, and she smiled. "Do you like it?" She shut the lid and placed it beside her on the couch, not noticing the hand carved ridges, detailed intricacies he'd included for her to notice. It truly was remarkable, but at the time, her eyes glazed over with boredom- only making it seem mundane. "Thank you, I love it," she said then. Only now, as she cradles it in her lap five years later tracing the rim where his fingers once carved, she finally means those words once on her lips.
She steps on a folding ladder, hovering over the hardwood in her closet. It's moving day and she tosses the last remaining hangers in the dirty clothes bin to be carried to the car. She was scared and nervous- she called him the night before. His words were the ones she needed.
"Hey stranger!"
"Hey there. How are you?" He sounded strong, independent.
"I'm good. Moving in the morning." A slight pause. He didn't notice.
"Oh that's right! You excited?"
"Absolutely! I'm just ready to move on with my life. Do something diff..." She was cut off, before her lie solidified, by the tiny click of an incoming call.
"Sorry, I have to go! I'll call you back." *click*
"bye" she said to the wall. He never called.
She throws the remaining bags and crates of mismatched socks and yearbooks into the back of her car. Her parents step out onto the lawn with a pink container made of transparent plastic. "Don't you want this?" they ask her with outstretched arms. She takes it as her heart clenches tighter than fists. A pile of college denial letters, two certificates for athletic excellence, and a wooden umbrella taken from atop her great grandmother's dresser. She nods and tucks it under her right arm. She looks down at its side. And there it lay, once made of wet malleable clay. Now a snowman painted by the innocent hands of a child lost in the clutches of infatuation. White body, a purple scarf, tiny black eyes no bigger than the tip of a ball point pen. A smile etched in, just as thin, rested below an orange triangle nose.
She unclasps the lid and pinches the snowman. Turning it over in her fingers, she reveals a heart scraped in the back- its identity. She places it in her right pocket. It will gather heat from her thighs through her jeans and remind her of how love never grows cold if you feed it, even if you initially neglect it. Her mom kisses her goodbye, her dad hugs her tight. A familiar quote emerges from her subconscious... "I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floatin' around accidental-like on a breeze. But I, I think maybe it's both." She climbs in the drivers seat and turns through her collection of discs accuulated through her adolescence. Only to retrieve the mix tape as she shifts the car in drive.
A picture, a comment, a string of familiar melodies. She swallows hard at each and every one. Suddenly, a memory dances on the rain-soaked windowsill. A mix tape from their first dance. At the time, it seemed dismissive- a silly high school crush that entertained the thought of being cared for by the opposite sex. "Oh," she thought, "this'll pass and he'll see I'm no good for him."
A wooden trinket box, carved by hand. Delicate and precise down to the brass hinges that were silent when she opened the top. "Happy Birthday" he said, and she smiled. "Do you like it?" She shut the lid and placed it beside her on the couch, not noticing the hand carved ridges, detailed intricacies he'd included for her to notice. It truly was remarkable, but at the time, her eyes glazed over with boredom- only making it seem mundane. "Thank you, I love it," she said then. Only now, as she cradles it in her lap five years later tracing the rim where his fingers once carved, she finally means those words once on her lips.
She steps on a folding ladder, hovering over the hardwood in her closet. It's moving day and she tosses the last remaining hangers in the dirty clothes bin to be carried to the car. She was scared and nervous- she called him the night before. His words were the ones she needed.
"Hey stranger!"
"Hey there. How are you?" He sounded strong, independent.
"I'm good. Moving in the morning." A slight pause. He didn't notice.
"Oh that's right! You excited?"
"Absolutely! I'm just ready to move on with my life. Do something diff..." She was cut off, before her lie solidified, by the tiny click of an incoming call.
"Sorry, I have to go! I'll call you back." *click*
"bye" she said to the wall. He never called.
She throws the remaining bags and crates of mismatched socks and yearbooks into the back of her car. Her parents step out onto the lawn with a pink container made of transparent plastic. "Don't you want this?" they ask her with outstretched arms. She takes it as her heart clenches tighter than fists. A pile of college denial letters, two certificates for athletic excellence, and a wooden umbrella taken from atop her great grandmother's dresser. She nods and tucks it under her right arm. She looks down at its side. And there it lay, once made of wet malleable clay. Now a snowman painted by the innocent hands of a child lost in the clutches of infatuation. White body, a purple scarf, tiny black eyes no bigger than the tip of a ball point pen. A smile etched in, just as thin, rested below an orange triangle nose.
She unclasps the lid and pinches the snowman. Turning it over in her fingers, she reveals a heart scraped in the back- its identity. She places it in her right pocket. It will gather heat from her thighs through her jeans and remind her of how love never grows cold if you feed it, even if you initially neglect it. Her mom kisses her goodbye, her dad hugs her tight. A familiar quote emerges from her subconscious... "I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floatin' around accidental-like on a breeze. But I, I think maybe it's both." She climbs in the drivers seat and turns through her collection of discs accuulated through her adolescence. Only to retrieve the mix tape as she shifts the car in drive.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
The Yard Sale- A Short Story (pt1)
Steam still clung to the glass shower door. Water dripped onto the white tile as Maya combed her long, auburn hair stick strait down to her bare shoulder blades. The door that lead to the house’s master bedroom slowly crept open to create a long black sliver extending from the ceiling to the floor. Michael stuck his nose in through the crack, his lips were the only visible flesh in the light beaming from above the bathroom sink. He backed out just a bit, the slight scent of lavender rolling off her soaked skin caused his stomach to churn with nausea.
“It’s quarter past six, Maya. I’m going to start putting the tables out. Grass is just about dry.”
Maya’s eyes never left her sight in her reflection. The hairbrush stroked the same damp strands again and again.
“We can wait another week, you know.” Her voice was barely audible above the humming of the gaudy fluorescent bulbs. She cleared her throat with a soft ruffle-unsettling phlegm in her throat formed from the consumption of moist air in the shower.
“No. It’s time. I’ll go set up the tables. Bring out the cloths when you are dressed.” His tongue lapped his pink lips before disappearing behind the door as it clasped shut.
Maya’s eyes never left her sight in her reflection. The hairbrush stroked the same damp strands again and again.
“We can wait another week, you know.” Her voice was barely audible above the humming of the gaudy fluorescent bulbs. She cleared her throat with a soft ruffle-unsettling phlegm in her throat formed from the consumption of moist air in the shower.
“No. It’s time. I’ll go set up the tables. Bring out the cloths when you are dressed.” His tongue lapped his pink lips before disappearing behind the door as it clasped shut.
After draping the damp towel neatly around the shower rod, Maya walked down the long hallway of the second floor foyer. Above the railing, the crystal chandelier hung over the hardwood den below. The leather wrap-around couch and a new high-def television sat in silence-four cloth sheets sprawled out on the furniture. Behind an old wooden chest they received for their wedding from her in-laws, there were the windows that lead as a portal out into the front yard. Michael was hunched over a gray card table, straitening the legs until the top stood flat and sturdy. She looked away, even her husband looked like an alien to her today. She had been putting off this weekend for two months now, and it was this feeling of loneliness that she had been dreading.
Her breath shortened as she reached the marble staircase, swallowing the lump in her throat. It was just another Saturday, she whispered to herself. Only it wasn't. It would finally happen today, not next weekend. And surely not the next.
Her breath shortened as she reached the marble staircase, swallowing the lump in her throat. It was just another Saturday, she whispered to herself. Only it wasn't. It would finally happen today, not next weekend. And surely not the next.
Maya imagined what this evening would be like- after a part of her was laid out on ten dollar walmart card tables and snatched up for another’s story to unfold upon. The newly-wed neighbors could be tucking in their new born in one of her baby’s blankets, another would by untying white laces from a pair of green booties. A part of her and Michael’s life would soon be a staple of happiness in another family’s life.
Her hazel eyes darted to an empty room on the right. The sunlight had just spread its first rays on the vacant yellow walls. A tight pull in her chest and her eyes darted back to lead her forward. Each step felt like an attempt to lift lead pillars as she made her way down to the pile of boxes stacked at the front door. The bottom one with a big S, the one on top of that with two lower case b’s. Shoes and bibs, she thought. To the left there was a pile of old work shirts from Michael’s days at the lawn and leafy center where he landscaped during the weekends in the summer while she was six months pregnant. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, as long as we get to spoil her rotten” she heard his distant remark echo in her ear. She left the boxes by the door and walked to the cloths draped over the back of the couch.
****
“Look! Carrie looks like a little peanut!” Maya squealed, her index finger tracing a small pocket of light on the printed sonogram.
Michael gently pinched the other side of the film, “Ha, you mean Christian. Look at that strapping jaw line and his already bulging biceps!”
Maya nudged her husband of one year-next Friday-just below the rib cage. “CARRIE doesn’t appreciate your humor, dear.” She got up on her tip toes and pecked his cheek, “But good thing I adore it.”
“But in all honesty, if it is a boy, we decided on Christian, right?” Michael let go so his wife could insert the picture back into the manila envelope that held several more photos taken from the sides of his wife’s abdomen.
“Of course we can, honey. And if it’s a girl, we agreed on Carrie Magdalene after my grandmother.”
“I guess. You know I am half tempted to say no. You know, the first time I met your family she announced to your parents I looked like a drowned muskrat.” Michael ran his palm across his prickly scalp, feeling an intense longing for his previously moppy hairstyle that he took pride in since his freshman year at Boston.
“Well it’s a good thing you showered and cut your hair before the wedding. Or she probably would have informed the entire wedding party too.” Maya rolled her eyes and skipped a few steps ahead on the pavement.
Michael marveled at his wife in the worn in pink spring dress they found at Fabulous Finds thrift store just down the street from their new home. How did I end up so lucky, he whispered to himself? He wiped his wrists clean of any dirt that still clenched his pores from that morning’s early trip to the mulch farm. Then he crept up behind her, catching her off guard, and lifted his still-thin wife into the august sun.
“Look! Carrie looks like a little peanut!” Maya squealed, her index finger tracing a small pocket of light on the printed sonogram.
Michael gently pinched the other side of the film, “Ha, you mean Christian. Look at that strapping jaw line and his already bulging biceps!”
Maya nudged her husband of one year-next Friday-just below the rib cage. “CARRIE doesn’t appreciate your humor, dear.” She got up on her tip toes and pecked his cheek, “But good thing I adore it.”
“But in all honesty, if it is a boy, we decided on Christian, right?” Michael let go so his wife could insert the picture back into the manila envelope that held several more photos taken from the sides of his wife’s abdomen.
“Of course we can, honey. And if it’s a girl, we agreed on Carrie Magdalene after my grandmother.”
“I guess. You know I am half tempted to say no. You know, the first time I met your family she announced to your parents I looked like a drowned muskrat.” Michael ran his palm across his prickly scalp, feeling an intense longing for his previously moppy hairstyle that he took pride in since his freshman year at Boston.
“Well it’s a good thing you showered and cut your hair before the wedding. Or she probably would have informed the entire wedding party too.” Maya rolled her eyes and skipped a few steps ahead on the pavement.
Michael marveled at his wife in the worn in pink spring dress they found at Fabulous Finds thrift store just down the street from their new home. How did I end up so lucky, he whispered to himself? He wiped his wrists clean of any dirt that still clenched his pores from that morning’s early trip to the mulch farm. Then he crept up behind her, catching her off guard, and lifted his still-thin wife into the august sun.
****
TO BE CONTINUED...
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