Merry Christmas everyone!
There's a Moment
When the hum of daylight slows and the hushed fall of our lungs is all that’s heard. It’s a moment that I squeeze tightly between my fingers, like futile efforts to capture the wind rushing outside my car window. It’s when I fall in love with your mussed hair, and the way you chase me across the bed in the throes of unconsciousness. It’s what tells my scattered...
We were Irreverent in our Sorrow
We mourned the loss of lips with stifled cries in the backseat of my Mustang, as the wild horses thundered beneath our shaking legs. Cold hands slid across our arms, forging trails of goosebumps in our limbs, like old memories rising from their graves. The time you threw a lamp and cracked your bedroom window as you watched me stalk out the back door— The day I left six hickeys...
When I hug a monster I tickle his soft underbelly and listen for the peals of high-pitched joy that bubble out from some indefinable place within him. He flashes those small sharp teeth at me, as if to threaten me with the edges of his upturned lips. But I know better. I know that night will soon into settle into the white slats that stand guard over the front yard, his grassy kingdom. And then...
The Letters I Didn't Have the Words to Burn
Specifics are the things we whisper to ourselves in the shower so that no one can hear us crying. We tuck them behind our ears or the backs of our knees, like dollops of sweat that slide off our skin and sizzle on the hot, hard backs of our chairs. Words like “regret,” “betrayal,” and “bastard” spiral round your ankles like hyenas waiting to sniff the mortal stench of shame. It’s buried...
Dark suns, like disapproving fathers, glare down at you before sinking below the plum-streaked horizon. The stars scatter into place as the moon begins patrolling the unruly atmosphere. When inky skies consume the moon the night becomes bloated, and too heavy for your small shoulders to bear. But strain, strain! against the darkness, run headlong into the smoky shadows, stretching with...
Variations on the Word Tired
This is a word we use to excuse ourselves from participation. It is perfect for days when our body says “just lay here and the world will cease to spin, if only for a fractured fraction of time.” Our mind barges in with some nonsense about the frivolity of five more minutes and how I should buy more milk, because that carton in the very back of the fridge has been congealing...
The Darker Sex
The Darker Sex Trembling lashes hide her unending nerves, those weary eyes that dart from doorway to window without pause. Like old salt on a weathered dock, she clings to sunny days of chicken salad in the park on Tuesdays, even as she tries uselessly to throw away the shaded sight of his jaw, clenched shut and looming above her. She whispers it’s okay, please don’t stop… don’t stop, don’t… ...
I start to finish the half-drunk cup of coffee that you pushed upon me as you stamped out the door. No kiss. No time. There’s a bit of brown-black sludge left at the bottom. Perhaps it’s the bitter remnants of some ever-resistant grounds. I swallow anyways. I didn’t want the coffee. Or the children. I didn’t want them, I don’t want them. But your crumbling eyes forced me to abandon my...
9 Snapshots on Looking at my Parents
I. He kicks sand onto her pink beach towel and ruins the last bite of macaroni salad. She smiles anyways. II. Laughter bursts through gateways of light mauve lipstick. His ears lead his eyes to the still-brunette hair shimmering in the silver night. A kiss simmers. III. Rainbow dewdrops gather, as the curling ivy leans in to hear the secret words he whispers beneath the hum of the...
A Bartender is Like a DJ, and a Bar is Just a Pity...
A bartender mixes your drinks with a splash of sorrow, and a wink, just to “give it a little kick.” As if to add to the ambience, he kindly puts up dim lights that splinter off your crystal tumbler, and blasts “What Hurts the Most” through the scratchy, ten dollar speakers. She left trenches in your life, footsteps traced and re-traced every day for years, and now she’s— gone, and...
My Memories Stretch Across the Pacific Ocean
There’s something spicy about mariachi trumpets carousing in the California air. I can almost smell the papas fritas popping in crackling oil and the sharp spice of chile burning my tongue. My mother sniggers at my stinging eyes, and only the cool cement breathing beneath my naked toes relieves me. The sprinklers come to life, and I’m suddenly sinking into the old hammock of grandma’s sunroom, as...
we need the bad words too. We embrace romance, innocence, and serendipity. But even mortality, tragedy, and destruction have their place. Adore his tangled limbs and never forget that true anger only comes from those who care most deeply. So love him even when the bad words fall.
Sometimes, I Wear Vaseline Smiles
And I flinch because I refuse to say the words I should: “That Hurts”
I spoke to you about time and how it had slipped quietly through the shine of our lives. Yet you insisted that nothing had passed by in those glittering moments. Yet if you knew all you had missed in the small spaces of your blinks, you would never close your eyes. The gray consumes the bluest skies.
Another day another pound thuds down upon your hunched muscles. Each sunrise tips the scale further. You teeter for a moment, hovering above the unknown and clutching your crosses with broken fingernails. Haven’t you had enough of concealing chinks and scars? When will you stop bearing what does not belong to you? Let them see the pain they caused. Let them eat your misery.
You never noticed just how large a queen sized mattress can be. The sheets puddle around you as you watch dusty fan blades circling above your head. A stream of heat snakes against the left side of your body, phantom signals from limbs that no longer warm your bed. At first, you had no tolerance for his advances. Legs were shackles that bound you, and embraces were quickly escaped. You gave him...
I find myself so tired these today’s slipping into yesterday’s tomorrow’s coming too soon to tell where does one find the small sliver of time that signals this life has trudged to the end of the line?
Settle into Slumber
Fallen bird, child of Earth. With your bruised beak and mangled wings, let Mother hold you tightly to her warm breast. She bleeds the hurt from out your trudging veins and croons that old, familiar lullaby. The bubbling brooks, lapping water twisting softly around the smooth curves of once-jagged rocks. The clouds, the warm mist that surrounds you, filling you up white. The notes she...
You love me like the wind outside my window. Circling, curling, surrounding, escaping, yet never gone. When I am still I hear you. You murmur through the blanket of black, the small bursts of tenor thudding softly in the twists of my ears’ drums- the skins stretched taut and tuned to the notes of your heart’s every beat.
You and I became We. Became fused in dimming daylight. We divvied up laughter, gathered up memories like drifting flecks of fallen light. I lapped your skin even as it leaked past sadness and salt. I claimed you, my bite marks painted you for war. And you conquered a yielding body, my bare-assed white sliding and writhing above your slick bronze. My tongue coaxed battle...
What thoughts tear through your sleeping chest? What ghosts grip you and litter phantom clots upon your cold blue lips. Lips that do not cry, and eyes that do not lie. Mind without sleep, and soul without rest.
It sings while you perch upon the ledge of a balcony, knuckles white y labios cerrados. It runs naked through the streets of Mexico baring its gringa skin without shame as if to say “!Mirame! !Te amo!” Mirame… Look at me. (Me mires, pero no me ves)
Sharp bite of lime, the sunburnt lips pursed and pressed together in the shape of swift inhalation. Grimace of soured tongues and the eyes that water even as the hands reach for more salt.
ordinarywonder asked: Where have you been? Hope all is well!
Green leaves shrivel beneath the beating of a lonely sun who never got the chance to meet her.
Take in the grit of every grain that lays dusted upon the cold, pristine table top. Now shiver, because the feeling is all you have.
The plip plop of rain bursts upon the pane of our window. and though the clear sound is found everywhere it is only there, in the Silence where we straddle the fence tween where we begin and The End.
Your skin is a mold of my body. I leave my wrinkles imprinted upon your wrists, and you come away with freckled shadows dancing on your shoulder blades as my back lays white and hot beneath the furnace of your lips.
Gracie always had a pencil. Some days it was tucked between the white shell of her ear and her brown hair. Other times, when the teacher gave us too much homework, the chewed eraser nub stuck out from the folds of her honey colored bun. One day though, I saw her pulling everything out of her cubby and dashing it onto the rug. Her brown lunch sack lay ripped open on the floor, with...
My two front teeth pierce the skin of a red seedless grape, or a raisin rouge sans pépins, as my zip-lock bag so kindly informs me. Is it odd, that I delight in rolling new words around the pathways of my tongue? I love Spanish, for its sensuality, its carnivorous ways. Mi amante takes me between his teeth, tan poderoso yet I do not hesitate to let him explore el sabor de mi piel. I taste to him,...
A need that scorches the insides of your belly with the flames of things that we used to have, but now can never own.
She’s sharp, pointed from her stare to her black leather shoes, freshly shined. But her voice is curbed and curved to bend with the sway of her words. I wonder briefly if the night finds her casting away the edges with each piece of cloth. Here, a sweater, there a pair of crinkled socks. I can almost see the black smudges concealed beneath freshly painted fingernails.
They sit in front of me, tittering over ratty clothes and caramel-colored babies. The tan one, with corneas such a disappointing shade of brown, proclaims that twins run in her family. The aforementioned eyes scope out the surrounding seats before she confides that she dreads the thought of having twin black girls. Her friends console her, and rush to assure her that they feel the same way. I...
He clutched a sparrow to his breast, crooning the sweet harmonies to her lilting voice. She sang of her devotion and he of his praise. But his eyes narrowed. The parts unravel and he imagines her arms’ embrace as bursting with impending escape. Hands squeeze around a fragile neck, as they slap the shackle to the scrawny angle of an ankle. Here, flight singes every feather, as...
She paced up and down the walkways, scouring the shelves and making sure that she never went down the same one twice. Her list was perfectly organized in order of aisles. She had been to this store two hundred and sixty four times before. Twice a month, twenty four times a year, for the past eleven years. If the store moved an item, or improperly stacked it, she would refuse to buy it. Today she...
According to Them
If I am in love I should never need tea to ease the rasp of screams and drown the bitter taste of anger. We should sleep soundly and serenely as little cherubs must linger in clouds; no imperfections can reside in the lover’s nest. But sadly, our star-crossed eyes met a dozen times before they caught each other staring across the room, and our hearts did not ignite a flame...
Not Safe for Virgin Eyes (I'd Rather Use a...
I want to hiss vulgarities in the cup of your ear as my cunt slithers down between your legs. I want to tear at your skin until the poison mingles with every atom of blood that we posses. I want my callused palms rubbing up against your smooth throat as I squeeze, and drink the desire that bubbles from out your pale blue lips. I want to devour you, to make you mine, forever. And if you...
He loved watching her paint her toenails. She would hug her knee close to her chest, and drag the brush gently over each nail. Every so often, she would pause to purse her lips and blow a soft stream of cool air across her toes. As she dabbed off the stray flecks of paint from her skin, she admired her work by wiggling her newly polished nails. In that moment, when her toes curled and her...
Someone asked me once, “What’s it like, being an athlete?” I’m sure at the time I just tossed out a nonchalant phrase like “Oh it’s great.” But now that I’ve had some time to think, I’ve come to the conclusion that being an athlete is akin to being in love. It takes loyalty, sacrifice, and sincere enthusiasm. You spend your youth flirting ...
Her eyelids crept open. “Damn. I’ve gotta pee.” Slowly, she wriggled out from underneath his arm. He groaned, but his snoring soon resumed. As quietly as possible, she trudged into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. When she came back, she found him sprawled out across her side of the bed. One eye roll and two nudges later, she managed to get him back onto his side of...
I want to pull poetry from the shell of your ear. Sometimes I stare at the pale skin peeking through the strands of your hair, and I wish I the words would birth themselves. But they don’t, and I can only sigh and simper over the words you stole from me: the ones I never possessed.
On Love and Friendship
Louise and Emma had been best friends for over forty years. Back in college, they would stay up late studying together. Emmie, as Louise was fond of calling her, always had her nose in a book and her feet in Louise’s lap. Louise, on the other hand, preferred to stake her claim on the coffee table. Her textbooks lay splayed and opened, taking up every corner of the mahogany surface. She lost...
I hate when I can picture exactly the image and moment in time that I want to convey, but I can’t extract the words. I can hear hesitation in the stammer of her voice. I can feel insecurity in the way she holds her arms stiffly at first, and ease when they wind themselves around me like ivy roots on a wall. I can taste heat radiating from parted lips. I can smell copper on her lips as she bites...
Jane’s fingers trembled at her side, a mixture of nerves and anticipation. It didn’t help that the ceiling fan was whirring above her, the gust sending ripples of beaded flesh through her exposed skin. She had never posed nude before, but Sean’s eyes had clouded with such naked joy at the thought of painting her; she hadn’t the courage to ruin his vision. Secretly, her heart swelled to think ...
Why do you stay? He asked her once. He was cooking dinner, and she was folding laundry on the living room floor. Her hands paused for a moment as she considered her response. At last, she returned to her folding. She replied that she had yet to find something that made her feel more at peace than to sit on their living room floor and listen to the sounds of Home. Her words tumbled through his...
Little Liza, Little Liza, Why did you have to go? You’ve been a naughty little Liza, with your drying eyes so big. If you hadn’t shouted, hadn’t cried, maybe I would still have my Liza, my good little Liza.