Aoife and Adrien (part 1)

Adrien tried not to look at Aoife, but his gaze was drawn to her like sparkle to a star. He lowered his eyes as though he was reading his book and hoped she wouldn’t notice him watching her through the shadow of his long, black lashes.

He drank in the line of her jaw. His lips ached to kiss the point where it met the curve of her neck. The simple gold chain she wore glinted in the afternoon light, beckoning. Her crystal pendant hung just above the cleft of her breasts, barely visible beneath her modest blouse.

Aoife raised her slender hand to push a lock of hair from that had fallen on her cheek and he was undone, again, by that graceful neck, no longer shrouded by her tresses. Truly, he was stung by love, and a pleasant sting it was.

Adrien felt the color rise to his cheeks as he thought of what it would be like to hold her and murmur into that darling, delicate ear. Would she welcome his secrets, his confessions?

Resolved, he closed his book, stood, and walked to her.

*****

Aoife looked up as Adrien approached. Had he seen her watching him? Did he know that she longed to rest her cheek against his shoulder? That she yearned to feel the whisper of those long, black lashes as he kissed the tender place where jaw met neck?

Her whole village knew of him, but only she understood him. Of this she was certain, and she was unafraid.

She knew he was beautiful to behold. She knew that he was strong and faster than thought. She knew he would be gentle. And she was not surprised that he arrived without a sound. She was also not surprised that he arrived without a shadow. After all, it was she who had stolen it when they were small children, their families passing on a rutted road. This was what bound them together. Did he remember?

Maya Papaya and Bethany Beet

Maya Papaya and Bethany Beet
lived two houses apart on Garden Street.             

 

They met and became the best of friends
playing together until each day’s end.

 

Bethany Beet had six brothers at home.
The only girl, she had a room of her own.

 

Maya Papaya was an only child.
When she arrived, her parents went wild.

 

Bethany Beet had seven white mice
named One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six and Ice.

 

Maya Papaya had only one pet,
a happy dog, Izzy, who loved to fetch.

 

One day Bethany Beet called, tense with fright.
“My mice got out of their cage sometime last night.”

 

Maya Papaya said, “Izzy, we’ve got work to do!”
She grabbed the leash, the dog and her slip on shoes.

 

They ran down the sidewalk to Bethany’s house
And arrived in minutes to hunt for the mouse, er – mice.

 

 Izzy put her nose to the ground and began to sniff

That’s when she found the mouse named Six.

 

Next she found mice One, Three, Five, Two and Four
They were hiding behind the garage door.

 

Izzy searched the yard, west, east, north and south.
She finally trotted back with Ice in her mouth.

 

She came to Maya Papaya and Bethany Beet
and placed mouse Ice at Bethany’s feet.

 

Bethany smiled, then snorted, then laughed.
Ice looked like he had just had a bath.

 

Bethany Beet put the mice in their cage
then fed them lettuce, spinach and sage.

 

Bethany’s mom gave each girl a treat
and for Izzy, a juicy ham bone to eat.

 

Maya Papaya and Bethany Beet,
very best friends on Garden Street.

 

 

 

Connected by Shadow

 

Adrien tried not to look at Aoife, but his gaze was drawn to her like sparkle to a star. He lowered his eyes as though he was reading his book and hoped she wouldn’t notice him watching her through the shadow of his long, black lashes.

He drank in the line of her jaw. He wanted to kiss the point where it abutted the curve of her neck. The simple gold chain she wore glinted in the afternoon light, calling him. Her crystal pendant hung just above the cleft of cleavage barely visible given her modest blouse.

Aoife raised her slender hand to push a lock of golden hair from where it had fallen on her cheek and he was undone, again, by that graceful neck, no longer shrouded by her tresses. Truly, he was stung by love, and a pleasant sting it was.

Adrien could feel the color rise to his cheeks as he thought of what it would be like to hold her and murmur into that darling, delicate ear. Would she welcome his secrets, his confessions?

Resolved, he closed his book, stood, and on sure feet, walked to her.

Aoife looked up as Adrien approached. Had he seen her watching him? Did he know that she longed to rest her cheek against his shoulder? That she yearned to feel the whisper of those long, black lashes as he kissed the tender place where jaw met neck?

Her whole village knew of him. But only she knew him, understood him. Of this she was certain, and she was unafraid.

She knew he was beautiful to behold. She knew that he was strong and faster than thought. She knew he would be gentle. And she was not surprised that he arrived without a sound. She was also not surprised that he arrived without a shadow. After all, she had stolen it when they were small children, their families passing on a rutted road. It was what bound them together. Did he remember?

Fortitude

 

Sip surely my friends

The nectar from your cup

Savor and relish

The fire in your throat

You will need it in the days ahead

To bolster your courage

And batten your hatches

Against the blowback of

Political spittle

As it flies from the forums

Spewing waves of misinformation

And obfuscation

Each candidate claims to love you better

Than any other

 

Images melt and merge

Our flag and Christians' bible

Abused as props

Issues appropriated and distorted

To fit a predefined narrative

 

Impossible to discern earnest

From dishonest

Hyperbole from fact

 

We, the people, stand dazed

Amidst the wreckage

Of our country

Sane and Insane

"Dang it! I told you to stop tinkering with the formula. The full extent of the interaction implications may never be known."

A wavering sphere hung in the air between us, partially obscuring Charlie's face, yet I could see enough to recognize his irritation at being interrupted.

"Seriously Charlie. I know mom left you in charge, but you just can't go about creating concoctions for blips and giggles."

Charlie walked around the manifestation until we were nearly nose to nose.

"Charlene," he hissed at me. "You are such a bossy britches. You're just jealous because I have more talent in my little finger than you have in your own body.

"Me jealous?" I laughed. He may be my brother, older by 3 minutes, but any similarities between us ended at unruly brown hair and an aptitude for the arcane. Mom should really have named us night and day, or dark and light, or sane and insane. Now that would have been fitting.

The wavering blob moved closer to Charlie and hovered over his shoulder.

"Charlene, what I did isn't a mistake. I meant to create this. It is my life's greatest achievement. "

With that, he turned and dove into the blob, disappearing. The blob belched before gliding out the open door.

Mom was going to be so mad.

 

elements

displaced water ripples      

 

air bubbles, misplaced

rise, bursting

surface

to be

re-absorbed

 

elements align

defy assignment

up or down, then or now

 

lost in the undertow

     I marvel

Brother From Another Hill

I saw him as he shambled toward the entrance. The wind ruffled his hair, but he did not seem to notice. Clods of dirt fell with each step. An air of dazed dejection hovered about him.

I stepped back from my vantage point as a knock echoed throughout our home. Everyone stopped what they were doing and, in unison, turned toward our makeshift door. I must admit that it was not a pretty fixture, but it slowed those down who meant us harm.

A visitor who knocked was rare here. I took a moment to gather myself before striding to the door to greet this sad and disheveled visitor.

“Who goes there,” I demanded.

“A brother from another hill,” came the reply.

I muscled the door open and took a closer look at the stranger. It was then that I noticed he was 

missing an eye, and when he moved back to allow for the swing of the door, I could see that one leg bent in an odd manner. Whatever he had been through, it was not good. I scanned the horizon, hoping he had not been followed.

I motioned him in, and he entered as quickly as his awkward gate allowed. I closed the door.

He looked ready to collapse, so I offered him an arm and ushered him to a chair.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “You are most kind.”

I handed him a drink. He sipped and shuddered, unsuccessfully attempting to stanch the tears that 

flowed from his eyes. They created trails of clean skin, vertical stripes in the grime on his face.

“I’m looking for a place,” he told me. “They… blew mine up.”

My eyes widened.

“Who blew it up?”

“Some of the two-legged, two-handed,” he replied. “Adolescents, I think.”

He swallowed hard, resolve gleaming in his eyes. He would tell their story and remember.

“We were finishing work for the day. Those who had assignments outside were on their way back. 

Our infants were in the nursery. Before we could gather for dinner, the two-legged, two-handed shoved something through our door. It sparked with fire before exploding. My brothers and sisters were blown up. Some disintegrated on the spot. Some were thrown from our home and consumed by predators.

“I am the only survivor.” Here, he paused, straightened his antennae, and looked me in the eye. “And now I am here, with you, asking for a place and help to avenge my colony.”

I paused for only a moment.

“This is now your place, and our colony is your colony. We march at dawn.”

Illuminant Ruminant

The illuminant ruminant 

chewed ideas until cogitation coalesced 

and a bulb burst above her head 

birthing a thought 

which grew into dream 

which became a plan 

which graduated to an action 

thus propelling the

illuminant ruminant 

from her place among the herd 

to an elevated echelon 

where she mentored more and 

initiated less 

eventually becoming a figure head 

and then just a head 

from which spouted 

light and meaning and wisdom 

but her acolytes took no action 

because they were 

mere ruminants minus the 

illuminance 

which left them fuming, impotent 

and empty 

and left her 

just a head 

of 

the 

herd.

Evolve

I am heavy

A blue whale on

dry land

struggling over rocks and

needle sharp grass

skin parched

soul lonely

yearning for

comfort

Destined for change

I push on

To survive

To evolve

anticipation

I wait for the walls to break,

dream of the end of a pandemic.

Will we cease to treat others with

suspicion and fear

or

is this a symptom of a

deeper-rooted illness.

Divide sometimes

drives us.

It may define us.

It lines us up in

Front-facing firing squads

each eager to pull the trigger

first. After all,

survival depends on being

in the right.

Left with a choice of this or that,

I choose those,

And anticipate a time of union.

Am I innocent

or ignorant?

Yes.

And hopeful.

The Transformation

The front door slammed. Bernard looked up from his newspaper, his caterpillaresque eyebrows raised in question. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially at this time of night.

The lamp over his shoulder cast strange shadows across the living room. He strained to see who had entered his home, but there was neither movement nor sound from the foyer. Strange.

Bernard folded the paper and set it on the end table, pausing to ensure that the edges of paper aligned with the edge of the table.

“Who’s there?” he called. “You may as well come in.”

Still nothing.

The grandfather clock in the corner began its sonorous gonging to announce the end of today and the beginning of tomorrow. As the twelfth strike reverberated through the house and silence began again to descend, he heard skittering down the hall.

“What in blazes,” he muttered as he unfolded from his seat and advanced upon the passage. He was tempted to bellow, “AHA,” as he rounded the corner, but restrained himself.  After all, he was unaccustomed to raising his voice. Probably because there was typically no reason to raise it and no one with whom to raise it to since Adele had left him 36 years ago. She wanted kids but he didn’t. Truth be told, it was a decision he’d come to regret in his twilight years.

The tail of a shadow slipped into the kitchen as he watched.

Grabbing the yardstick that had hung on his hallway wall since his retirement from Green Valley High. Holding it out in front of him like a jousting lance, he entered the kitchen.

The shadow he had seen had coalesced into a six-foot-tall rabbit holding a carrot, poached, he could only assume, from his very own fridge.

“Freeze,” Bernard shouted. If ever there was a time to raise one’s voice, it was when a strange, oversized rabbit made an appearance in one’s home.

The rabbit, eyes wide, dropped the carrot and began running in a mad pattern back and forth across the kitchen floor before finally dropping to the floor and rolling beneath the table. And there he stayed, unmoving, eyes open yet vacant.

“Heart attack,” thought Bernard. He had scared the intruder to death. “Oh my,” was all he could summon in response. Should he call the police? What a strange situation.

It was then that Bernard saw a large basket filled with colorful eggs and candies, perched on the counter near where he had first spotted the rabbit.

Absentmindedly he picked up the carrot and began nibbling on it. He wrinkled his nose as he puzzled through the evidence. He tapped his leg as the mist of confusion began to clear. He knew what he needed to do.

Bernard could practically feel his whiskers growing as he lifted the basket and made for the door. He had a lot of ground to cover before morning.

Superhighway

Beads of moisture travel

tiny vehicles on a superhighway

lanes marked by veins.

Drops collide

falling from a leaf tip to

rivulet

racing to the river.

winter's shore

gray blurs the horizon, sky and water merged

distance is deceiving

wind drives the point home

Inside the Light

Nora decomposes quietly in her bed. She’s a bother to no one. She isn’t actually dead. Yet. But after a series of strokes the living have mostly stopped paying her any mind.

She lies trapped in her useless body, inert as a turnip beneath a starchy blanket, the only activity occurring behind her eyes.

Nora misses nothing and everything at once.

She watches the light sliced into slits by the institutional blinds travel across the wall.

When it’s barely past the window ledge someone will come in with a tube of liquid food and plug it to her belly. She misses the taste of food. Even her mother’s burned bacon or liver and onions would be a welcome change from the flavor of old pennies and stale breath.

A slice of light touching the faded floral print in the ornate plastic frame means two of the ever-changing cast of CNAs will enter the scene to rotate her in an attempt to limit the bloom of bedsores bedecking her backside. They handle her like a cut of cheap beef and titter over her withered ass as though Nora no longer comprehends human communication. But she does.

When the fading light reaches her inert hands it’s time for the library lady to arrive. She brings with her a lurid novel and an earnest voice and transports Nora to a different place and time. Her favorites are the speculative fiction stories. Anything can happen and beings with all manner of bodies live full lives.

As the day’s rays fade, corporeal sustenance is once again plugged in and dripped, enough to get her to morning.

The building settles, hallways become quiet, and Nora thinks about the library lady and today’s story. A sleeping princess wakened by a tender kiss, lifted to her feet and waltzed around, dizzy with joy, filled with life.

Tears leak from Nora’s eyes. She closes them and shuts out the world.

******

They lay together, his hand resting on her chest. He rumbles something sweet into her ear and she turns to him. The leaves filter late day sun, dappling all round with mystery and magic.

“Nora,” he whispers, his breath tickling her neck.

How she’d missed this. How she’d missed him. How long had it been since they’d been together? Too long to calculate and she didn’t care to spend this time focused on figuring such mundane sums. 

He is here now. That’s all that matters.

He stands and lifts her, his hands on hers, strong and insistent yet gentle. There are no worries while she is in his arms and she willingly dances with him to languorous rhythm not so much heard as felt. The blanket, picnic and space they had occupied recedes. Soon they are in a field and dusk drops. Fireflies light between the flowers. There are flowers everywhere and the smell is intoxicating. Petals brush her skin and she continues to dance throughout the night, confident with the arms of her love.

*****

Hands leave Nora's discarded shell. Signals are silenced and cables are wound and tucked into machines now pushed to corners. Blankets are left jumbled, some trailing to the cold floor.

Morning light touches the window ledge.

Generations

Generations

As a child I followed
my parents
watching      listening  learning
becoming
me.
As an adult I led my children
teaching     listening learning
evolving.
In mid life I observe
my elders becoming
dependent needing being
unsure in this shifting world.
These generations
shoulder to shoulder stand
roots touching
branches intertwined
reaching for the sky.

Berta

Berta bops down the street,

an ebullient bundle of brash.

Top of the class for street smarts and survival sense

she weaves between obstacles that would fell

the posh peeps who patronize her,

who put money in her pocket so they can put

candy up their noses, all while turning said noses

up at her.

Hah.

Who uses who now?

Who needs who now?

After the Flood

What was here before the flood

in the days preceding a deluge

of familial responsibility?

Surely there were budding dreams and

deep green thoughts adorning

lush shrubs and trees,

individual expectations and plans

basking in light and air.

Now, all appears drown

slippery and rotted beneath the surface.

Looks, however, can lie.

New life darts among sodden stalks

nipping nutrients where it can

growing in rippled light.

Fingers crossed that it will someday

haul itself from the damp to

dry land,

lungs expanding,

and begin again.

After the flood.