Daily Archives: October 29, 2009


“Downtime” by T.R. Healy

It was so quiet, for a moment the dogs next door began to bark, furiously, as if something were the matter.

Alma also was surprised not to hear the familiar growl of jackhammers this morning, the whine of electric saws and the shouts of workmen. Something indeed must be the matter, she thought, as she eased into her bath water. Ever since she discovered that the old Dakota Building was going to be demolished, she had worried that something unforeseen might happen. Despite the assurances of her husband and neighbors, despite all the precautions taken by the people in charge, she remained on edge as the blast day approached, still expecting something to go wrong.

"You just can't blow up a building in the middle of a residential neighborhood," she told her husband, "and not expect some damage to occur."

Soon the hammering resumed, silencing the barking dogs, and impulsively Alma slid underwater for a moment, plugging her fingers in her ears. For nearly a week now, she had been listening to that racket coming from the Dakota Building, hour after hour until she thought her ears were going to burn off. It would all be over by the end of the week, the building reduced to rubble and dust, and she just hoped she could hold on until then without going to pieces herself.




The Dakota Building, a relic of red stone and barred windows, was for many years an apartment house for older people in the neighborhood. No one had resided there for several months, however, since it had been sold late last summer to some developers from Canada who planned to build a large office park in its place.

"It's hard to believe the Dakota isn't going to be standing there after Sunday," the mailman said to Jess as they stood across the street from the ramshackle building. "One of my aunts used to live there before she passed away, and I can remember many a Sunday afternoon visiting her there."

Jess nodded pensively. "The place has been there a long time, all right. About as long as anyone around here can remember."

"I understand it's supposed to drop in a matter of a few seconds."

"In the blink of an eye from what I've been told."

"It's hard to believe," the mailman said again as he resumed his route.

Jess removed his old baseball jersey, which was streaked with sweat, then bent over the sawing trestle and cut another large piece of plywood. He was standing in the driveway of old lady Coble's house, sawing and stacking wood that later he would fit over her front windows to protect them from incurring any damage from the blast. Along with several other people in the neighborhood, he had agreed to put up scaffolding for the homes of the older residents who were located within the immediate vicinity of the Dakota Building. He had taken off the past three days from work to gather blisters the size of raspberries on his hands.

Usually he worked alone, but sometimes Midge stopped by in the afternoon, not to help but to talk. He and Jess had met in the Army while being trained in demolitions. That was almost nine years ago, and they had not seen one another since then, until Jess happened to recognize his old acquaintance the other week at the Dakota Building and identified himself. Midge remembered him after a moment, smiled and shook his hand, and quickly they disclosed what they had been up to since their discharge.

"I'm still in the smithereens business," Midge admitted then, explaining that for the past year and a half he had been working for the general demolition contractor on the Dakota project.

"I always figured you enjoyed blowing things up a little too much."

He chuckled. "To be honest, Jess, it's the money I make that helps me retain my enthusiasm for the work. But I can't deny I still get a kick out of dropping something big like the Dakota."

"This is the first time a structure of this size has ever been demolished with explosives inside the city limits."

"So I understand," he said. "I guess this really puts your little neighborhood on the map."

Jess nodded. "Thousands of people are expected to be out here to watch the blast."

"All the attention we get is what makes our work so different from what you and I did as soldiers. Now I sometimes feel as if I'm part of a circus that has come to town. People pester me with questions, ask to have their pictures taken with me, ask for my autograph, want to buy me a drink or take me to dinner. It's incredible."

"The daring young man on the flying trapeze, are you now?"

He laughed. "Believe me, Jess, we get the royal treatment practically wherever we go. And you know what, chum? It feels great."

"I bet it does," Jess replied, also laughing.

"You ought to try it sometimes," he cackled. "Hell, everybody ought to have the chance to be in the spotlight at least once in their lives."




"Guess what?" Jess asked his wife as he rushed into the kitchen where she was rinsing a bowl of strawberries.

"What?"

"I saw a ghost today... Someone I haven't seen in years. We were in the Army together."

"What's your friend doing here?" She smiled. "Haunting some old house or something?"

"You could say that I guess. He's here to blow up the Dakota."

"You'd think he'd've had enough of that sort of work in the Army?"

"This isn't the same thing at all, Alma," Jess insisted. "He's the toast of the town these days, not some raggedy soldier anymore."

Throughout dinner Jess talked about Midge, so that he almost seemed to be an invisible guest at the table. He recounted some of the projects Midge had told him he had worked on, marvelling at all of the different places Midge had visited in the country and at the enthusiastic reception he had received in many of those places. Midge was as much of a celebrity, he told his wife, as that fellow in Texas who puts out oil fires all around the world.

"He scracely knows anything more about escarcelys than I do," Jess said, "yet he's regarded as some kind of wizard if you will."

You could be him, Alma thought to herself, knowing exactly what was going through her husband's mind this moment. You could be crisscrossing the country, earning pocketfuls of money and being treated like someone special if you didn't have to be stuck here with your pregnant wife.

The more Jess went on about his old Army acquaintance, the more suspicious she became that he was going to leave with him after the blast on Sunday. Ever since she became pregnant Alma had expected Jess to go away again, unable to accept the responsibility of finally settling down and raising a family. She had always assumed he would leave her for another woman, not to blow up buildings, but one served the same purpose as the other she supposed so long as his independence wasn't threatened.

She would not be able to track him down this time, she knew, she was too far along in her pregnancy to be wandering all over the place. She had become as slow as an old woman during the past month, breathing heavily just climbing up the stairs. She grimaced a moment, recalling the long drive she had made last time in search of Jess, finding him barely conscious in a dreary little lounge at the coast with a woman twice his age. This time, if he left, he would be gone forever, she feared.




Late on Friday afternoon, two days before the blast, Midge invited Jess to accompany him as he supervised the loading of explosive charges on the cast iron columns in the basement and first floor of the Dakota Building. They proceeded cautiously through the restricted area, through all the rubble from the walls that had already been knocked down by the workers, slowly circling the exposed columns. They had been trained in the service to demolish targets without regard to the effects of the blast, but the demolition this Sunday had been designed to minimize the damage to other property in the neighborhood.

"If you kick the supports out of a building," Midge reminded Jess, "the only way it can go is down."

Jess remembered. "Kill the body and the head dies."

"There you go, chum."

After a moment, Midge paused before a column on the first floor then looked at Jess, smiling tautly. "Do you want to decorate this tree?"

"Are you serious?"

"Sure, why not? You're qualified. You received the same demolition training as I did."

"All right, if you say so."

"I say so."

Jess mounted the stepladder beside the column then helped another worker secure the explosive charge to the side of the column. Surprisingly, he was relaxed, sure of himself after all these years.

"It appears you've still got the knack for this kind of work."

He nodded. "It's like riding a bicycle: once you learn you never forget."

"I guess you learned well, Jess. I guess both of us did."

For the past three years, Jess had been sitting at his desk on Friday afternoons, sipping a mug of coffee, sorting through and reviewing different policy claims, and not once had he ever experienced this kind of satisfaction in his work. He felt at this moment as if he had really been doing something that mattered, not simply putting in time until it was five o'clock and he could go home. Suddenly he considered the possibility of leaving the insurance business and going to work for Midge on a regular basis, even though he knew Alma would object, not wanting him to be on the road all the time and fearing he might become injured working with explosives. He tried to shake the idea from his thoughts, but it remained there, like a dull ache at the back of his head.




That evening, at dinner, Jess told Alma that he had been invited inside the Dakota the night before the blast to help Midge attach the firing mechanisms to the explosive charges. He was barely able to contain his enthusiasm as he told her, nervously tapping his steak knife against the edge of the table. "He also invited me to watch the blast with him from the command post," he said.

"I'd assumed you were going to watch it with me?"

He looked at her, his face clouded with confusion. "I didn't know you were really interested in watching it. You never acted as if you did."

"Maybe you weren't listening to me, Jess."

"Oh, I was listening all right. I was listening with both ears, and you weren't showing the slightest bit of interest until just now."

She swung her legs out from under the kitchen table, leaning back a little in her chair. "You really want to go, don't you?"

"Well, I told Midge I'd help him out, and I don't see any reason to renege now."

Her eyes sizzled in anger. "I mean, Jess, you want to go away from here... from me... from this child of yours I am carrying."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I know you, Jess. You'd leave with your Army friend in a heartbeat if he asked you because you find things here too small and confining."

Jess slumped in his chair, his shoulders turning in as if he were suddenly being embraced by someone. "I can't deny I've thought about it, sure. But it's not because I want to leave you or the child. It's because I believe I could provide a better life for us with the money I'd be making with Midge."

"This time, if you go," she fumed, "don't expect me to be coming after you. Not this time, Jess."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," he said again, wondering if she might be right after all.




It was dusk. The first floor of the Dakota Building was almost as dark as the basement. Carefully, workers crept across the dusty floor, making the final preparations for the implosion tomorrow morning.

Jess, holding a flashlight, watched as Midge rigged a firing mechanism to the base of another column, considering to himself whether he really wanted to go to work for Midge as he had speculated the other afternoon. He thought so, but he wasn't sure. Obviously the demolitions business didn't promise to make him rich or famous, but it did offer at least the prospect of gaining the sort of attention and prosperity he could never gain working in an insurance office. If not a step into the spotlight, he thought, it was at least a step out of the shadows.

Moments later, as they moved on to rig another column, a worker came up to Midge. "We've had an unexpected visitor, boss."

Midge sighed with irritation. "Who is it now? Another neighbor trying to take pictures of the inside of the building?"

"Not quite, boss," the man grinned. "A kid was spotted climbing the fence at the north end and throwing something into the building."

"What was it?"

"He said it was just a stick so we checked it out, but instead of a stick we found a dead snake."

"What?"

The man laughed hoarsely. "At first the kid denied he threw it, but after a little persuasion he admitted the snake was his pet."

"So why in the hell did he throw it into the building?"

"Because he wanted to give it a memorable burial, he said."

Midge glanced at Jess, shaking his head. "You think you've heard it all, then something like this happens."

"What do you want me to do with the snake?"

"Let it lie," he laughed. "And tomorrow morning it'll have the most memorable burial this kid could have ever hoped for. Under six stories of dust."

"You're the boss."

Midge proceeded to another column, still laughing about the incident with Jess, who continued to hold the flashlight as Midge installed another firing mechanism. Time passed slowly, and as it did Jess recalled an instructor he and Midge had in training who used to tell them before they began a field exercise, "Now get out there, troops, and make some memories." He was still trying to carry out that order he supposed. Otherwise why else was he here tonight with Midge, if not to make some memories, like the boy with the snake. He regarded the preparations for the demolition as a chance to revive some of the special moments he had shared with Midge in the service. But he was only fooling himself, he knew the past could not be repeated. Now it was necessary to make some new memories, and thinking of the child Alma was carrying, he was confident the future would be full of such memories.




"It's time to go," Jess said as he touched his wife on the shoulder.

She rolled over on her side, groaning softly.

"It's time for the big bang everyone's been waiting for," he whispered.

She rubbed her eyes. "I thought you were going to watch it with your Army friend."

"I changed my mind," he said tersely. "Now let's got a move on. Rise and shine."

It was still dark out, but already the streets were filled with spectators, pressed as close as possible to the barriers that had been set up to cordon off the immediate area of the blast site. By the time Alma and Jess had made their way to the porch of one of their neighbors around the block, however, a sliver of sunlight began to appear through the clouds. Strings of balloons were visible from some of the surrounding houses, along with carpets that had been hung in the windows as protection against the blast. And to their right rose the Dakota Building, appearing as if it would be there forever.

A warning siren was sounded at the two-minute mark, which was greeted with a chorus of cheers and whistles from the crowd.

Alma, startled by the siren, edged closer to Jess. "Don't you wish you were up closer to the front row?"

He shook his head as the siren issued another warning. "I can see everything just as well from right here."

"You're sure?"

He gripped her wrist, gently stroking her hand. "I'm positive."

Then, with fifteen seconds to go, the siren sounded for the last time.

"Here we go, everybody," someone shouted anxiously from the driveway. "Hold on tight."

Suddenly then, after what sounded like an enormous drum being beaten, the old building shuddered and collapsed in a black cloud of dust. At once, there were cheers and shouts from the thousands of spectators. Some also rang bells and blew horns, as if it were New Year's Eve.

"It fell so quickly," Alma marvelled. "Like a house of cards."

"It's always faster to tear something down than it is to put it up."

"So it seems."

Jess stared at the thick cloud of dust that had already begun to envelop the crowd. "Alma, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For ever thinking of going away with Midge. I didn't mean to upset you. Honestly, I didn't."

She pressed a finger against his lips. "Let's not talk about it anymore. That's all in the past, Jess, just like the Dakota Building."

“Public Complacency ” by Randall W. Pretzer

"My goal is the destruction of public complacency." Volsen said. Volsen and Michelis sat across from each other Indian style in a one room apartment. The room itself was empty. Volsen was a heavy set man with a thick, dark beard and thick-blacked rimmed glasses. He was dressed in a torn up suit. He had no tie or jacket. It was just the shirt, pants and socks. He had taken off his boots.

"What is freedom? An illusion. The right to care only for yourself? You work alone. The world at large doesn't matter? This must change," Volsen said.

"Why would you want to destroy the right to feel self-satisfied?" Michelis said. Michelis was dressed in black jeans and a white t-shirt. He was wearing black boots. He was a watch maker. He and Volsen had met up in school. They were assigned as partners for a school project and from there they developed a close friendship. Michelis didn't understand Volsen at this point and his new atittude. However, he was a loyal friend and if this meant that much to Volsen, Michelis would go along with it.

"How can anyone feel self-satisfied when this world is destroying itself?" Volsen said.

"I don't know, but is it not their right and privilege to feel a sense of self-satisfaction?"

"In our society, it is their right but that doesn't make it right. Their self-satisfaction has caused them to not care. It has destroyed their hearts. Their feeling of satisfaction has destroyed their desire to help the world. We must rebuild it. We must feel satisfied for everyone and not just ourselves."

"Can we not just try to convince them that those words are what we all should live by?"

"The time for talk had passed. We have reached the point of no return."

"We always have options."

"We have options but there is only one right option."

"We may not convince anyone, but wouldn't it count for everything that we made the effort? It matters only that we do our best."

"I want results. I don't want a wish unfulfilled. A dream that remains only a dream. I want the fantasy to be the reality. It will happen. We will make it happen."

"This world has so little talk now."

"Because it is so ineffective. Words don't create, actions do."

"Actions come from words. I think talking would be worth a try."

"The effort to talk put me in prison."

"You did something. That is what counts."

"Where did it get me?"

"Does it matter?"

"I said I wanted results, not just the satisfaction that I tried. We still have nothing."

"We got something."

"No more talk. It is time to act. You can come with me or I will go alone."

"I am with you no matter what, Volsen. I just disagree."

"We must act soon."

"Yes, Volsen."

Michelis and Volsen were walking through a department store called Wilson's. They were dressed the same as before. Volsen had put his boots back on. The sections of the store were each separated by a small walk way. The areas were square. There were signs hanging from the ceiling over each of the areas identifying what was sold in each area. They stopped in Men's ties. They both stood side by side right in front of the counter and waited for an employee to come help them.

"I want to show you an exercise in futility, my friend." Volsen said.

"It is the effort, not the result. This employee may not be self-satisfied in this world and that could be a start for a brave new world." Michelis said.

"He doesn't care. He wouldn't be working here if he did."

"We all have to survive. You don't work and you don't get paid and since there is not any government aid anymore, you won't survive. You have to give them a break. We have so much time on our hands because our parents take care of us."

"We all should be willing to make sacrifices."

"What good is anyone when they are no longer alive?"

"They died with their boots on... with meaning... for a purpose... that is what it is all about."

"You can accomplish more by living."

"Enough. This man will illustrate my point." Volsen banged on the counter.

"Is there anyone here?"

An employee came in front of Michelis and Volsen.

"I am sorry about that guys, how may I help you?" Volsen read the employees name tag. It read Johnston.

"I want to ask you something, Johnston."

"Sure."

"How do you feel about the world?"

Johnston looked at Volsen with a funny look. He didn't know what to think about the question.

"I never really thought about it..."

"You should."

"What is there to think about?"

"The violence... the decay... it is all around us..."

"The store seems pretty quiet to me today."

"The world is falling apart. The fact that a store like this exists proves my point."

"I am sorry, sir, I just work here. I don't have any answers for you."

"I am sorry about this, sir." Michelis said.

"It is all right."

"Let's go, Volsen. I think the point is made."

"You will understand." Volsen said looking at the employee.

Volsen and Michelis left the area and then left the store. They sat down on a nearby slab in front of the store and waited for their parents to come pick them up.


“Democracy” by Patricia Leavy

with each concrete step
each deliberate step
watching the barren trees that line my way
my heart fills with anticipation
the others walking the path
feel it too
pulsating in the crisp air
it happens on this day
when who we are
meets who we can be
and we become
vessels.
It is my turn
I approach the ballot box
lightened by the weight of history
and my responsibility to her
I know that America is not a place
or an idea.
America is an action.

“My Family” by Mary I Huang

She carried three children
across the Pacific Sea.
One slept on her back,
another suckled her breast,
the third holding her hand.

Behind the head of the household,
who walked ahead proudly.
Leading the noble search,
a quest for the American dream--
to be rich, to be happy,

to leave the ache of his broken family.
His ashes were never buried.
Grandpa's ghost adjacent tarrying,
in his work, in his kids,
and every time he slept in.

The woman he loved most
got caught in the over-heating,
for words he failed to express
as he cried his tears with beatings.

How could he say "sorry"
when "I love you" meant everything?
Wrestling with an invisible force,
how could he express support?

Amalgam of dreams, of sorrows,
a weary agitation
he turned from the mirror
to stare into Snow White's fantasies.

As the woman hid stoically
depositing their new ashes
into a safe and quiet bank.
Where wet dreams turn into nightmares
and loneliness knows no escape.

Three children grew in stature,
but would they ever believe
in the fire that created their being?
Or just remember being carried
across the vast blue sea.

“Watch” by Mary I Huang

Sometimes I wished time was as easy to stop
As removing the battery from my watch.

Watch out, dear friends.
Do not be deceived by the humidity.
For what goes on in my mind
Can never be the same as what goes on in yours.

Two people, touching each other's bodies
Sleeping in the same bed, dreaming different dreams.
"Together," as "friends," or even strangers as we meet.
Navigating through our own fantasies
To reach a common reality (whatever that may be).

Exchanges of familiar words, creating incomplete models
To make sense of our complete experience.
Religion, philosophy, anything with meaning and intent—
All human inventions. Stories to help us move on,
And comprehend the only givens:

That we're born, we die
And everything that happens in between is plain absurdity.

A choice at every moment bookended by two chosen by Fate.
"Leave a mark," "make a difference," "help your fellow man!"
"Be unique," "contribute," "alleviate suffering!"
All noble strivings, I believe.
A "good" life when I can tell people what I do
At a bar on a Friday night and still be proud.

The background music plays on in my head.
Drums continue to roll in with the clouds
to the beating of my heart,
and somehow I'm not allowed to make the rhythm stop.

Searching for a peace of mind inside
by finding me a lover outside (Is this just fucked up or what?).
Seeking a Love so deep it'll save me—
a true sacrifice of the partial truths
For something more complete (whomever that may be).

I run again far away to the top of windy hill
I can't help going back to the same place again.
Another lazy summer re-run: the new shows don't come on 'til the fall
The good stuff hurts even more than the bitter endings,
And there's no escape from the happiness of the pain.

Someone out there must have heard my prayer for another chance.
Another game of hide and seek, we play in this reality.
This time, I don't know where else to hide.
So I take off these clothes and climb up the tree in my backyard.
It's much easier than you would think—
This time, I want you to find me.

There's nothing else on my "to do" list that matters.
So I remove the battery from my watch and pretend to wait.

“Don’t Boss Me” by Dianne Borsenik

I imagine you dismembered
your intestines hanging out
your eyeballs on your cheekbones
and your tongueless, bloody mouth

I imagine your bones broken
and your cunt hair set on fire
I could say I'm only joking
but you know I'd be a liar

I know I have to work with you
I know we have to speak
I know there's no escaping you
but damned! if I'll be meek

I've been bitch-slapped by viruses
that weren't half as bad...
but when it comes to bosses
you're
the worst
I've ever had

“Never Listen to Sad” by Dianne Borsenik

Never listen to sad songs,
Even if you're sad, but especially if you're feeling
Vanilla. Sad songs can tip you over the
Edge. Never watch sad movies; you have to
Realize that the chocolate in them is too
Sweet for your mouth. Never read sad stories,
Tales of berry and butter pecan; they do nothing to
Open your eyes, but will tear out your heart.
Please hear my prayer. Never, ever,
Look at old photographs;
Old love letters, smelling of mint, are just as bad.
Other things to watch out for are old
Keepsakes; the cream within them can burn.
Listen to me; I've been there,
I know what I'm talking about. Never
Stop for even a taste, for it will chew you with iron
Teeth, devour and swallow you with a ferocity that
Even nightmares would envy.
Never listen to sad.

“She Said Yes” by Whyte Panther

She said yes
My god she said yes
I asked
I actually asked
And she said yes
She actually said yes
Like a phoenix rising
From the ashes
Of the derailment
I used to call my life
Those three glorious letters arose
.
Y
.
E
.
S
.
I now know that I'm gonna get through this
No matter what kind of nonsense
Life's going to try to throw at me
I'm going to be fine
How can I not be?
She said yes
I want her and she'll have me
I feel like I want to tear myself in half
Take the terrible angry miserable half
And leave it to battle the beast
Then take the warm content elated side
Put it in a box
And wrap it up
To give to her
As a present
She so well deserves
All of the best of me
Just for her

“Breaking News” by Jacob Erin-Cilberto

the president of pain
his country
one of cynicism
in crisis
sorrow's candidate elected
by a majority of tears

after a bevy of years
experience qualifies him for the job
he's been in and out of love politics
so many times
there is an asterisk by his name

in the form of a heart
his record questionable
his intuition corrupt
impeachment of emotions before a congress
of guilt,

he wakes up one day
wondering how he got in office
and why all the pictures that grace his desk
seem like a penance
to remind him

of his bad decisions.

“This Alien World” by C. Harter

The muteness of snow drives all depth
from the brain, until the extent of existence
is the next step
and the next step.

 

I trample the powder, determined
to show that humans still walk
the contours of this alien world.

 

I shout my name to the somber trees, if only
in hopes for an echo
to give it meaning.


“Argument” by Dianne Borsenik

Raked across skin, the edge of a word
Sword of castigation, dull blade of wasted breath

Another place of close walls and rusted nightstands
Endless hours without sleep, empty roles to play

This morning, the dogs were silent; and the rain,
Incessant, striped windowpanes with its blue music

Another crucifixion, another chilly prayer
Lost in the ether of life without parole

“To Her” by Christopher Franke

I hollow out a place for you in me

When you pass through my mind led by my thought,
A hand that takes you into hand to see,
Naked before the blood's secret eye caught.
The prisoner of backwardness, I am

To forwardness disposed, by too wrought gland,
Of my unnecessary need on the lam

From the prim prick that grinds my heart to sand.
Under the cover of my eye lids you
Come a lover to bed my hollowness
Knocking up against the visions that do

You disservices in my shallowness.
Over thoughts that knowing is love, I lie
Under the manhood of fears, she makes shy.

“Tales From the West” by Christina Brooks

Flying west, my broom leaves soft streaks
Against the growing evening sky
As I race the pigeons home from Oz

In search of ruby slippers I wear
My "heart" upon my feet
Not on my sleeve as others do
My dancing shoes they are
Stolen and now brandished
On the feet of a younger woman
Worn boldly, mocking my aching heart
The wizard has left me for her
Forlorn and forsaken
In my lonely Western realm
I wonder what the world has come to
     when the young can so easily usurp the old?
Treading a broken trail of tears to truth
Wanting, but not walking
The many miles they need
To find their own way home

The one who now wears my heart upon her feet
Does not know the pain she causes
With each tender step she takes
Or even wonders why they glisten so

My ruby slippers... my way back home as well.

“Song” by Christopher Franke

If I were a musician, I'd make you a song

Without words, for words are gems but a song's
A flower, more in keeping with the marching hours
Now passing us by in an entourage.
Time is our signature, and melody,

To the steps of what we hear. A coronet
Of daisies for your brow! And more flowers'

Lyric, sweet scent upon the wind, your robe.
Out of guitars and flutes, man and woman
Vocalizing the sweet nonsense of the heart
Even past the silence of birds a murmur of roses

Yielding to the morning's glory, herald and dew.
Out of these words a sweet nonsense of song
Under whose heavy hand I hope I do not wrong.

“Monday” by Jordan Johnson Kuhn

My heartbeat
matches the whirring of crickets,
fueled by bourbon, nicotine.
The clock races, counting down.

I sit out here,
surrounded by leaf,
insect wings, the irrepressible humidity of stagnant air,
within reach
of love, eons of love, of polished cherry worn thin by the cloths of a hundred years.

Restless, unfettered night.
Memories of Italy, of fireflies,
dance on my fingers.
I shake my foot.
I check the time.

How many thousands of nights have been spent
exactly like this, sitting, doing nothing,
listening? Waiting.

I pull, draw close,
think. Think again. Hold imaginary conversations.
Let things slip through my fingers.
I retire.

“Felon” by Jamie Cavanagh

how that moment of succumbing
that moment of vein's hunger
makes one forever
pariah

a vengeful god
is in this
smallness

a tremor in the touch
a darkness in every dawn
a label tattooed on the brow

how that one taste of the forbidden
that one bite
brings another

how that moment of saying no
to the voice that says
all but this
leads to banishment eternal

how that one moment
of no moral wrong
earns a spot
ringed with stone
for the feeble mourners
to gather round
to shake their heads and say

what a waste

“Merlin’s Folly” by Jen Pezzo

Only he would recognize her
in her many guises,
by the scent of her body-
the electricity of her aura.
Only he could pique
her curiosity,
challenge her knowledge,
arouse her dark envy.
The temptation to seduce
not only his body, but his mind;
pulled at her will,
teased her sensibilities,
made her reckless and wanton.

Passion existed between them
as more than an emotion!
It was an outside force,
an omnipotent being that spun
the illusion of self control;
that each believed they alone
possessed with help from
their secret language of
incantations guiding legions
of spirits and mystical powers.

So Merlin built her an invisible
house in Avalon and there
they lived for ages, indulging
in the pleasures of love
until adventure called him away.
Those duties were more
than a woman could handle
and though Nimueh consumed his
thoughts and played his body
like a musical instrument – she was
nothing more than a distraction.

This misconception was the first
of many and the beginning
of his folly. The future often spoke
to him; this time it sent warning.
But he was too blinded to take heed.
He attributed Nimueh's attempts
to dissuade him from his "purpose"
as trickeries, quaint ignorance
and jealousy. So when Camelot did
crumble around him she lured him
with the promise of comfort for a
broken heart, then entombed
him for eternity with his prophecies
and longing before becoming
herself again; the mist on the lake.

“The Melt of Letting Go ” by Nicole Robinson

I cannot bend against every thought
I throw into the air, stare expecting
snow to pile into circumstance.
If it does, I let it be.
When I was young I wrote
letters in the snow for god.
I know the itch of cold.

I can handle silence, wrap it
tightly in my hand. Eventually
ice turns into water. Today
I am practicing goodbye,
my open hand, the melt
of letting go.