Once more.
Standing in today's valley.
Consumed in the darkness.
My brow raises,
aligning two black beads to a harshly jagged silhouette
set against faint, intensifying daylight.
Once, I felt its cascading warmth - long ago.
The light will not touch me today.
My flesh will not be rid of this cold ache.
The day will be long - all the days are long.
And so will be the next.
The highest peak it doesn't have to be.
The chance at arrival -
one day -
is all I need to move on.
turtle, turtle.
A grey-washed wooden dock hovers atop still glass water. The breeze carries a chilled flesh-white chicken drumstick in the sun’s invariable fervor. My sweat-pooled hands deploy fingertips, mechanically playing the thin string like a puppet master, the drumstick summoned to dance in the pungent seawater.
A tug.
I pull.
And carapace scutes appear.
Sunday
“No, three scoops, please. Yes, but with extra hot fudge. Whipped cream is fine. No, you can keep the cherry. Rainbow sprinkles? Excellent!”
It arrived in a glass of familiar curvature; an upturned dress, hemmed at the rim.
Another weekend not yet ended. Where do they go?
A sundae still to be finished.
The Haze of Dusk
Her mother lay still on the couch. Birds echo melodic tunes through the haze of dusk. She lets the spring-loaded door slam upon exit with one bag more than she entered.
“I’ll never be back,” she summons the words with ruinous profundity.
The mountains were silent, the world was calling, and she went.
Rotting Inside Out
Black with white doors, a sedan sits in a near-empty downtown parking lot under shade of an elm tree. A steady cool breeze turned warm from the asphalt’s heat swoops through both open windows of the car. Two men sit in the front seats and feel the breeze across the sweat of their brows.
“What you go with?” said the man riding shotgun
“Chicken burrito… salad,” said the man in the driver’s seat. The ignition key turned counterclockwise and the rumble of the engine faded.
“You finally did it.”
“I did it.”
“I don’t know why you want to do it. Nice to have a little something to throw around when you need it,” said the passenger.
“What are you talking about? Who wants to die from a heart attack if you can control it?”
“You think food will be the thing to kill you with all the shit we deal with?”
“All I’m saying is I can control what I put in my mouth.”
“That’s what she said,” said the grinning passenger.
“You’re a sick SOB, you know that.”
The passenger picked up a sweating white plastic cup and slurped its contents intensely. The two men took in the peaceful surroundings as the breeze offered relief under their swollen blue shirts. Cars and pedestrians traveled reasonably along the street. The passenger ravaged a steak burrito with overflowing cheese like a jackal as the driver struggled to steady cubes of chicken and swords of rice on a plastic fork almost as flimsy as the Iceberg strips scattered throughout the bowl.
“You happy, man?” prompted the driver.
“Happy as a goddam clam,” retorted the passenger.
“You don’t need to be like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know like what.”
“Are YOU happy?” said the passenger in defiant sarcasm.
“Actually, I am. I know that’s probably hard for you to believe.”
“Now why do you say that?”
“You wear everything on your face.”
“Here we go.”
“Here we go what? Don’t be like that.”
“How many times you going to say that?”
“God damn it man, would you just talk to me?”
“About what?” said the passenger hopelessly.
“Anything. Anything at all so I don’t have to sit here and put up with your sulking in silence.”
“Tell me how you really feel.”
“I just did.”
The passenger rolled up a square of foil and tossed it to the car floor. His tongue rid his fingers of grease and he dried them with a brown napkin that ripped in the process.
“Growing up I had asthma,” said the passenger.
“Join the club. Half the Southside had breathing troubles when I came up,” replied the driver.
“You want me to talk or not?”
“Go on.”
“All I wanted was to join up and be an Infantryman.”
“Honorable.”
“I would run myself ’til I couldn’t breathe, gasping for air, to build endurance. Ever had that feeling?”
“Big Jim choked me out once during combat training. But I reckon the Lord equipped my big boned ass with a set of quality air bags.”
“And you chose this over the military?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“A question.”
“I love our community man.”
“You saying I don’t?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Things are different,” sighed the passenger, “than they used to be.”
“And how is it that things used to be?” pressed the driver.
“Different.”
“Change is inevitable.”
“Well,” said the passenger, “it doesn’t have to be.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m tired of all the bullshit.”
“Then retire.”
The passenger laughed aloud. “Wouldn’t that be something.”
The sound of a bustling city can be heard off in the distance.
“What are we doing, man?” said the passenger.
“We’re eating lunch.”
“And then it’s back to driving around these streets.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Same shit, different day.”
“That how you really feel?”
“That’s how I really feel.”
The driver finished the last of his meal and wiped his hands. “Green or red?” he asked the passenger.
“What are you talking about?” said the passenger.
“Which one you want?” The driver pulled a pair of apples from a paper bag and showed them to the passenger.
“I’m not a big fruit guy.”
“You’re a human. It’s good for you.”
“Am I?”
“Some days I question it. Take your pick.”
“Red.”
“Think fast,” said the driver tossing the red apple into the air.
The passenger caught it mid-flight and rubbed it on his swollen shirt. The driver looked down at the green apple rolling along his fingertips.
“We can’t have another repeat,” said the driver.
“That a threat?” remarked the passenger.
“I’m your partner, thought it should come from me first.”
“Whatever man. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We won’t talk about it because it won’t happen again, got it?”
Silence filled the air as the driver looked at the man in the passenger seat.
“If you got a problem you can take it up with the Chief,” said the driver.
“Got it,” said the passenger quickly as he eyed the apple’s skin for defects but found none. Mouth wide he sunk his teeth into the pulpy flesh and tore off a chunk. Looking at the outline of the missing piece the passenger spit the apple from his mouth, ejecting it out the window.
“Jesus man, what the hell is this?” said the passenger showing the driver the apple, bit to its core.
“Looks like the core completely rotted through. No way to tell until you opened it up.”
The passenger flicked the rest of the rotting apple out the window and it landed in the parking lot before rolling into lush grass.
“I could cite you for littering,” said the driver, half-joking.
The passenger sat silent.
“You want this one?” asked the driver holding up the green apple.
“I told you I’m not a fruit guy.”
“You shouldn’t be so bitter.”
“Enough,” said the passenger. “Let’s get to work.”