Haunting Storm

Black clouds move swiftly
Swirling chaotic wind
Bright green flashes of light
As the storm comes in

Into my mind he dances
With pale moon face and black vapors
Hiding green flashes of lightning

A dry storm of hidden tears
A biting lip, a hug to self
All rain kept tightly in
This storm that haunts me

I hear his thunder roar
And shield my eyes from his flashing light
And hide my face from his rain; his pain

But black mists graze my cheek
And pushing wind makes me weak
I let his rhythm carry me deep
This storm that haunts me

I fear going blind meeting that green light
I fear falling from that ephemeral grasp
Losing my mind, self and reason
I can never be his, so

It’s a wet booming crash
That doesn’t last
And dry as bone
I hug myself home
Eyes wide open.

Siren of the Soul

There is fruit I have not tasted
Of Pink tawny thighs
And peach-fuzz firmness
Heavy, round quivering mound
The delicate petals of her flower

My deepest dark desires
Have laid buried deep asleep
Queer thoughts and fantasies
But a sweet discovery
In the uncovering of me

Inch by inch new jewels lay naked
Glistening gold and sparkling gems
An old crown long forgotten
A broken mirror to be pasted

Revealing my constant muse
Sweet siren of the soul
She sings from cold caverns deep
And wakens me from my sleep

Her hair is golden rain
With eyes of ocean pain
Her skin the smooth pale of shale
And lips like red wet satin bow

What is inside I wonder?
To untie to shivering delight
To delight in her wonder.

The Lonely Wind

Creeping Willow
Dancing tendrils
Dancing in the tender wind

Warm sighs grace the skin
To let him in or keep him out
Branches part, and links unlock

Scraping thorns
Cutting in the tender wind

Eyes redden
Blood flows
Drip drip dripping
In the cutting wind

Hollow wounds
Gaping mouths
Silent screams crying
In the freezing wind

The flame puffs out
Branches close
Links lock tightly
In the lonely wind.

The Singing Bones

She felt cold, gritty asphalt under her cheek and moved her head slightly to look around. She must have passed out. She was lying amongst bones, gleaming white in the moonlight. Some skeletons still had clinging tattered pieces of hair and skin. The odor wasn’t bad; faintly sweet and spicy. She wondered if it was safe to stand. Who brought her here? She stood up, and the first thing she noticed was she only had two legs. She lurched precariously, but caught herself before she tumbled. What happened to my legs? Her legs were hairless and she had human arms and hands instead of her forelegs. She touched her face and marveled at how flat and small it was. She felt she was missing huge chunks of herself, and she looked around warily for the missing pieces. How insignificant she felt. She touched her forehead and cried out. Her horn was gone! She looked more closely at the bones and recognized them; the large skulls and horns, familiar shapes of ribcages and legs. She narrowed her eyes and saw families running together on green waving prairie grass. The bones were humming, and she recognized the song. These were her ancestors. She felt so weak and frail. She had no weapon or clothes. She opened her mouth to whinny and only a soft sigh escaped her throat and was lost in the wind. She didn’t know if she could make anything work. Was she in the future or the past?

There was an acidic chemical scent in the wind, but everything was faint and muted to her senses. It was either nightfall or the sun had finally died, for all was darkness and shadows. Only a horned moon glowed faint light and was cold comfort. A red machine on wheels screeched to a halt outside the gate near her. It was then she realized two things: she was trapped, and she was helpless. Surrounding her were tall black iron bars with one rusty chained gate. She was imprisoned with only the unicorns’ bones for company. She scooped up a nearby pearlescent horn and instantly felt ten times bigger, stronger. Meanwhile, the red machine opened up and a man darted quickly towards the gate. He deftly snapped the chain with a shining tool, and pushed. The gate didn’t budge. She moved away from the man and the gate, stepping high over the bones, and trying not to stumble. She clutched the horn in her hands, and turned back towards the man. He was muttering something, and pushed again. This time the gate gave way. He leapt gracefully over the bones like a dancer, and she marveled how one could move so beautifully in such an ugly body. She raised the horn uncertainly and closed her eyes. Is this a dream?

No, and we must move quickly. We don’t have much time.

She opened her eyes wide in shock. He was covering her with a long white cloak, and had already moved her out of the gate and into the red machine.

It’s called a 'car.'

She gasped and sucked in too much air and started coughing. Her coughing soon became strange hitchings and wails she couldn’t seem to control and salty water poured from her eyes.

Calm down, he soothed. You are going to hurt yourself.

He never once uttered a sound, she ‘heard’ him in her mind. Sound or talking wasn’t necessary here it seemed.

We are….different, he said hesitantly. Not all can communicate as we are doing. I will explain everything.

But why am I here? She thought painfully.

He quickly glanced at her as he maneuvered the car down winding black paths with tall flat mountains on either side. Don’t you know?! He moved his face nearer, and touched her head. Red was on his fingertips. You must have hit your head, are you in pain?

This whole body is in pain. Yours isn’t?

He smiled and shook his head. You are from Before, and this world needs you to set some things right. He touched her horn spot, and she felt a tingle. The horn she held gave a high trill. These two men will try to kill you.

In her mind's eye, she saw an old man in a worn coat with mud or blood surrounding his mouth, she saw only the dark shadow of the other.

He shrugged. We can never get a good look at that one..But we think he will try a bomb or some sort of explosive device. The future is fuzzy, you know.

Is this the future then?

No, he laughed. This is always Now.

Unicorn Girl by Lilykoi-Designs

Heavy Drops of Rain

The afternoon was aqueous and stifling. A heavy humidity. A heavy waiting. She wrote the words down carefully, slowly on an old college-ruled notebook leftover from classes. An abstract butterfly graced the cover, and the subjects of her classes had been written, then marked out and written three times. She was frugal. She worked on preparing breakfast-though it was mid-afternoon. Breakfast, for her, was always the first meal of the day no matter the time. She may have cereal or scrambled eggs in the middle of the night. Her thoughts were traveling in hypersonic speed.

She was developing a repugnance for the world. Everything an irritant, a bother, a mindless chore. Each day a dark wave crashing into her again and again and again. Each day the same, the same, the same. She heard that hell is repetition, and she believes it. She felt like screaming. The pressure building up like a slow cooker. The constant ebb and flow of the cicada drone outside was grating on her nerves.

Looking through the slanted slits of her window blinds, she saw the wind moving the trees. As she watched, the breeze picked up and the trees waved and danced for her. Nothing moved her. She smelled the waffles cooking, with the necessary touch of cinnamon she loved. She noticed the waffles turned out better if she left the room; left them alone to do their thing. She rubbed the tears from her eyes with two fingers, then took the bottom of her black t-shirt to wipe her eyes and nose just beginning to run. Sometimes pain and sadness remain no matter what you do. She watched her cream-colored cat begin to bathe itself. She knew if she touched her or extended her hand, the cat would begin to purr. She let the tears run down her face, and got up to take out the waffles. As she took the second batch of waffles from the machine, she heard the first heavy drops of rain hit the tin roof above her patio. The drops brightened her up considerably. With rain, the insects would stop the constant mindless droning. Rain would cool the heat of the day, soothe her mind. Unfortunately the rain stopped with no promise of more to come. The mercy of the rain hadn’t dried alone.

Dirty Deeds

The two boys had talked about starting a business for weeks. They’d sit in Mark’s tree house in his backyard and swat mosquitoes in the summer evening making their plans. Selling lemonade was discarded as was selling cookies, mowing lawns and babysitting. Neither one liked lemonade or knew how to bake. The hard work of mowing lawns in the summer heat did not appeal to either one of them. And both were too young to be babysitters. Both boys were 12. Mark was the leader, since he was born 5 months earlier then Alex. Two days ago, the boys were lying in the clubhouse amidst comic books, and candy wrappers discussing the future and the mysterious ways of making money. The new Robot Monkey 3 was coming out for their Elect-astic gaming systems, and birthdays and holidays were too far off for any serious gift giving. The game was $54.99, and both boys decided they just had to have it, or would be the laughingstocks of their entire 6th grade. They had talked to a few kids over the summer when meeting at the city pool, and everyone was talking about it and saying how they would be the first to buy. The boys needed to come up with something fast. Wafts of rock and roll drifted up from Mark’s Dad’s garage as he worked on his mustang. Fragments of AC/DC drifted up to the boys.
“Dirty deeds, done dirt cheap….” Mark sat up and looked at Alex. Both boys’ eyes widened and smiled. It was perfect.

Two days later, everything was ready. They had their sign made and brought out a little card table. Mark’s dad told them they better not mess it up, and they told him not to worry. After they set up, promptly at 8am, in the cool delicious morning. Both boys were smiling and wide awake. They lost some of their resolve though when cars slowed to read their sign, and most drivers laughed and shook their heads. Some people looked confused and looked at the boys warily. Most people seemed to think it was a big joke, and drove off laughing. The boys were discouraged. Their sign simply read: Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap. They thought it was genius, and even had matching blue collared shirts and blue hats, like mechanics. They felt very optimistic and professional. They set up their sign, and organized their price sheets-which consisted of their services and prices neatly printed in pencil by Alex on sheets of notebook paper. Alex didn’t want to use pencil, and he frowned at how weak their price sheets looked-but Mark insisted pencil was necessary in case they needed to change their prices on the fly. Alex wanted to run home and get a pen to at least print the services darker and bolder, but by then, they received their first customer.

Their first customer arrived, and Alex was annoyed at not being able to bold their services in ink. He was further annoyed when he saw it who it was. James, a creepy kid from the next block was riding his bike and stopped when he saw the boys. He read the sign, and smiled at the kids encouragingly.

“Cool idea,” he said. “What’s that?

“That’s our price list.”

“Can I see it?”

“Sure!”

James was 14; one of the ‘Big Kids’, and though creepy, one to be admired and respected-always. Mark did all the talking, and Alex tried to smile and nod most professionally. James laughed at some of the deeds, and he pointed at #4 and said, “I like this one. Ha ha”

“Okay,” Mark said business-like. “That will be $5. Just tell us who you want to scare...”

“No,” James cut in, “I didn’t say I want that one, I just said ‘I like it.’ You see, I have a little sister that I want to get rid of.”

Alex gulped, “Scare her?”

“No,” James said impatiently, “get RID of, see?”

The boys looked at each other, and Alex whispered to Mark. Kill? And Mark nodded. Mark smiled at James, and winked at Alex.

“Now aren’t you glad you brought your pencil? Now let’s talk prices.”

Pinkerton

I discovered the story among the old yellowed pages of newsprint I was using to wrap up my remaining dishes and mugs; ‘Homeless Man Saves Flamingo.’ The faded photo was of a man in his seventies with an old Stetson tilted on his head, and the unmistakable head of a flamingo resting on his shoulder. The caption simply read: Charles and Pinkerton. I remembered the story. Three years ago, a local homeless man came across a flamingo which had both its legs amputated at the knee joints. The man, Charles Toskovich, adopted the bird and named him Pinkerton. The story kept me glued to the pages, and for a short while I was able to forget the upcoming move back to my parents, the selling of my house, and my recent divorce. Charles and Pinkerton were local celebrities in southern Florida two years ago. I remembered they would appear on local talk shows and news reports. Everyone was so tickled at the idea of a homeless man having a pet legless flamingo. Several of the townspeople had even chipped in and hired an engineer to design a sort of harness with crutches attached for the bird. No one thought it would work, but it did. Pinkerton was fitted with two or three different harness crutches before the design was perfected. I remember laughing and struggling to keep from spitting out my coffee as Pinkerton ran across the sound stage on a local TV morning show. Everyone laughed, but never in a mean way. Pinkerton had a way of filling everyone he met with wonder and joy.

Could those two still be around? Though Bonita Springs was only a short drive from Naples, I never visited. The city of Bonita Springs was pristine and picture perfect. The houses like plastic Barbie dream homes. I thought the town probably invented Charles Toskovich and Pinkerton the Legless Flamingo to give it some flavor. Since Bonita Springs was on the way to my parents’ home in Fort Myers, I decided this time to stop and see what I could see in Bonita Springs.

I was dreading the move like learning I was going to have to live with a debilitating disease the rest of my life, and decided to take the drive nice and slow. “This is only temporary like everything else,” I told myself. An hour into my drive, and too soon for comfort I saw the Bonita Springs City Limit sign in the distance. This soon passed and I was at a corner Mobil station to fuel up and ask for directions. I kept it simple.

“Charles and Pinkerton?”

The greasy middle-age man manning the register and pumps nodded towards the gulf.

“Pinkerton passed a little over a year ago, and Charles, if you find him, will either be at the beach near where he first found him or at Stan’s Shoe Repair Shop.” At my confused look, he continued. “They let him sleep in the back of the shop sometimes when the weather gets bad.”

My resolve diminished. I wanted to see the legless bird move like the wind on his crutches. But I missed it, like I feel I miss everything in life. I contemplated just forgetting about Charles and Pinkerton, but I came this far. Besides, I was homeless too. I decided to try the beach as the first place to look. Luckily it was also my last. Charles was there, still wearing his signature Stetson tilted at an angle. He was holding Pinkerton’s crutches on his lap and was bringing a small flask to his lips. I suspected the flask had been empty for some time. His movements seemed automatic and dreamlike as he stared into the ocean. Upon closer inspection Charles looked closer to eighty or ninety and had dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t acknowledge my presence until I spoke.

“If I woulda planned a little better, I woulda brought you something to drink.” I said pointing at the flask.

Charles quickly glanced at me and just as quickly away. “I gave up drinking when I found Pinkerton,” he said.

“Tell me what happened?”

Charles shrugged and seemed to hug himself. He opened his mouth then closed it. “He just flew away.”

“The man at the Exxon said he died.”

“No!” Charles shouted and his cheeks turned red. “No one knows that for sure! Pinkerton just left, and I’m hoping someday he’ll be back.”

“How long has it been?”

“Fourteen months and eleven days.”

“Well, maybe he finally got back on his migration path. You know flamingoes…”

But he cut in. “No! Pinkerton was different. He was my friend.” His chin trembled, and he brought the empty flask to his lips again.

I wanted to tell him there was no sense in waiting for something that may or may not come. Pinkerton probably was dead. Without his crutches, how did he stand to feed? But I had no right to dash the hopes of another. Charles was jingling something on the harness of the crutches. A little pocket?

“What’s that?”

“Oh! These crutches are fancy!” Charles chortled. “They have belts, pockets, bells and whistles!” He laughed loudly for a good two minutes. But he showed me what was inside.The pocket was filled with dimes all bright and shiny, some dating from the 1890s.

“Wow! Some of these are really rare! Where did you find these?”

Charles gave me a smug look. “These aren’t mine. These are Pinkerton’s. He found these. He loves dimes!”

I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous, even if I believed Pinkerton liked dimes, how on earth did he find so many and some so valuable?”

Charles gave me a long pondering look, before turning to gaze out into the ocean once more. He said, “The same way we find any treasure; through luck and perseverance.”

I settled more comfortably on the sand dune, locked my hands behind my head and waited for Pinkerton to come home.

Ophelia Dreams

Oh, fair Prince how your beauty lies
That the mere brush of a butterfly turns your head
The most fleeting of caresses turns your course,
And your constant weakness of will
Remains enforce.

Such thinking, thinking
Behind your fair brow
The flux of desire and illogic;
Setting aside your crown.
What sweet tortures you merit,
And stress upon my being
Misadventure and folly,
Deception unseemly.

But, I am beast in woman form
Not one to bow lightly
For in this tender heart resides a seed pearl
Of the rarest sort.
A gift, a treasure;
My priceless measure.

One can never guard oneself too carefully.
I will cleanse my sins in Diana’s pure water
I will be baptized in the blazing truth of the sun.
My heart and soul to guard,
My virtue to keep.
I dare’nt trust my heart and soul to thee.

Eternal Jewel

A sparkling diamond within my heart
A butterfly in chrysalis
A shining sun in a dark, damp cave
Gleaming sand in the desert waste

The diamond encased in coal,
And the pearl in oyster
Both made from pressure and pain
A pure birth after rain

Encased in clay, in waste
These years need to be sloughed off
Rock chipped away
Layer after layer
To find the eternal Me

A pristine sea
A jewel, a pearl
A soul’s flight back
Washing away the dirt, slime and evils
I’ve put upon myself

I sit in the Lotus
I am the jewel
Not covered in grime,
But an eternal jewel to shine.

Darkness Depart

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Start at the beginning.”

“I don’t know where the beginning is!”

“How did this all happen?”

“I’m very naïve…”

Here, he put his pen down and looked at her with one eyebrow raised.

“Just the facts, ma’am.”

“I met him over the internet. He was very charming, and seemed to have a lot in common with me.”

“His name?”

“Henry Thomas...but I found out later that wasn’t his name. Nothing was as it seemed.” Here, she laughed shakily and shivered.

The officer looked up at her and the blue and red siren lights washed his face over and over as the strobe turned around and around. Red,Blue. Red, Blue. It was hypnotizing.

“Ma’am?”

She blinked and looked around. The blood, the feathers strewn everywhere. She hugged the blanket the medic gave her to her body and shivered again.

“I don’t think he was human,” she whispered.

“Ma’am please speak louder. Here!” He motioned a man in a white coat over and then whispered in his ear. The man nodded and turned back to the ambulance to get something.

Everything was in slow motion; she felt woozy and sat down hard upon the parking lot.

*

He had wanted to meet her in a darkened parking lot at the old abandoned theater. All her warning bells rang off, but he had said he was nervous around people. He was very shy. She had talked to him on the phone for hours and hours for almost three months before she agreed to meet him, and she had come armed with mace, her cell phone, and a knife. But she felt she was being foolish. She felt she knew him well. His voice was so soothing and sexy. His words seemed so full of love and truth. And she was so very lonely. Everything happened so fast...


The man in the white coat came back and handed her a small pill, and water in a Dixie cup. She took it without thinking what it was. The officer and the man whispered again, and she heard “in shock” and “bring in for observation.” She was too exhausted to care.

The officer flipped through his notebook. “Genevieve?”

She waved a hand. “Jenny. Please... everyone calls me Jenny.”

“Ms. Jenny it says that when you called 9-1-1 you reported you attacked a demon, a monster that escaped?”

She nodded. “Demon or angel. But I think it was a demon. He had horns.”

**

She had walked to the car he had described to her over the phone. It was this old sky-blue Dodge Charger. She saw a huddled shape inside and paused a safe distance away.

“Henry?” She called out, a little annoyed at how scared she sounded. She cleared her throat and called out louder: “Henry?!”

“I am here.”

And his voice! She nearly swooned. His soothing, beautiful voice was like music to her ears. That sounds so cliché but it was. It sounded so much purer and melodic than over the phone. She recognized his voice. All her worries erased. She stepped closer and saw he was deformed, as he seemed to have a large hump on his back, and he was keeping his body and face twisted away from her.

“Oh, Henry!” She breathed softly. “It’s okay,” she assured. “ I don’t care what you look like. Please let me see your face.”

“You really don’t care?” His voice rang with hope, and her heart melted.

“Oh, honey of course not. I love you. Please, let me see you.”

He turned then, and the rest was a blur. She saw horns, and her eyes widened. Horns that were huge and curling like on a bighorn sheep. She didn’t realize she was screaming until he was saying: “No,” and “Please stop!” And HE WAS STEPPING OUT OF THE CAR!

She couldn’t seem to stop screaming, and without thinking she pulled out her knife. Then she saw the wings; Huge, black wings that seemed to cover the sky. She fell to the ground and blacked out. She doesn’t remember attacking Henry, but she must have as there was blood all around; Blood and feathers, and not a scratch on her. He had left the car behind, so he must have flown away.

She looked at the sky then, and told the officer. “He must have flown away.”

A different officer came back with a wallet from the car. “The car is registered to a Billy Rodriguez, is this the..er..man you saw ma’am?”

She glanced at the I.D but knew without looking it couldn’t be him. There are no pictures of him. She shook her head. She looked at each of them then. “I know you think I am crazy, but look at these feathers! Look at the blood!”

Officer number two who had gone to his patrol car to speak to dispatch and who was the officer that checked the car for I.D, now ran excitedly from his patrol car to officer number one. He whispered in his ear, and officer number one pulled out the handcuffs. “Ms. Jenny I’m afraid I’m going to have to bring you down to the station, Billy Rodriguez has been found dead.”

Jenny shook her head. “But of course he has. Darkness cometh and darkness depart.”

“What was that?”

“Something my Grandmother used to say: ‘Darkness cometh and darkness depart.’ She danced with demons too.”

Drowning

Yellow-white sun is shining
Morning birds are singing
I feel and hear none of it

I've stopped trying

My memories, my thoughts
Your blue eyes, your face
Etched in pain
My love and concern for you
Will never die

I've stopped trying

My only hope is for your health, your success
A life filled with happiness
For me,

I've stopped trying

My life is gray & silent,
An underwater nightmare
A fog that never lifts

I've stopped trying

I love you so much
A love that grows and swells,
But never reaches you
A love not felt

I've stopped trying

And I'm choking on my tears,

I am drowning.

Paint Me With Laughter

Lost time is never found again~Benjamin Franklin

“What a sweet little boy,” I said to the tow headed child with big blue eyes. I was visiting my friend Shannon for the first time in years, and was immediately drawn to her son Caleb. He reached out his little arms and I scooped him up.

“How old is he?” I asked hugging him close.

“Two...no three. He’s just turned three…Ha ha.Things have been hectic around here. I’m lucky I can remember to eat!”

“Oh, he’s beautiful!”

Suddenly the child pushed himself up in my arms and buried his face in my hair. He rubbed his mouth back and forth quickly on the top of my head.

“Uh…What’s he doing?” I asked, a bit nervously.

Oh, he’s feeling your ‘happy.’ That is what he calls it. He does that with just about everyone. Kinda weird huh?

“No…it’s sweet!” Very weird. “Glad I washed my hair! “

Caleb stopped rubbing his face in my hair and looked at me. His look was very solemn, and he spoke clearly.

“Your happy is broken.”

The effect his words had on me was unexpected. I immediately put him down and walked away, arms across my chest.

“Lynette? You okay?”

“He said my happy was broken.” And then I started to cry.

Oh, Hon, what’s wrong? He’s three…what does he know?

It’s true though.” I said and took a deep breath. “Something is wrong with me. I feel broken somehow. Lost. Lonely. I feel displaced here. I can’t seem to feel anything anymore, or let anyone in.”

“Well, hon your divorce…it’s only been a year, or not even?”

“It will be a year in February. I have not heard his voice or seen his face in over a year. I don’t know how to let go. I don’t know how to get past the pain and start healing.” I buried my face in my hands and cried.

“I feel…” I said when I could catch my breath again. “I feel there is this pain in my heart, this dark ache that will never heal. Sometimes I feel I am just waiting to die.” I laughed a little shakily. ”Perhaps this wasn’t the best time for a visit.”

“No, No...” my friend was holding me I realized, and that I had wet her blouse with my tears. “We love you. We are glad you came. You can come to us for anything.”

‘Us,’ referred to her and her husband Chris. We had all been friends since college, some 15 years past. Chris was at work, and Shannon stayed home and took care of Caleb. Caleb was now tugging at his mother’s jeans. Shannon bent down, “What honey?” Caleb waved her closer whispering. Shannon sighed and leaned closer, and Caleb cupped his little hand to her ear and whispered-all the while looking at me. I smiled at him and dried my tears. I walked to the window, and looked out. The apartment was on the second floor above a daycare. The window overlooked the playground and I could see the children playing. I could hear their laughter. If only I could feel it!

I then felt a gentle pull on my hand and looked down. It was Caleb. He beamed up at me, his pale blue eyes shining.

“He wants you to go outside with him. To play.” Shannon smiled apologetically, and shrugged. A silent: It’s up to you. “He said something about you needing to be ‘painted with laughter.’ “

I smiled. Painted with laughter? I wonder if he knows I am an artist? “That sounds like exactly what I need! Lead the way Caleb!”

Once outside, Caleb led me to the center of the playing children. Curiously, the children paid neither of us any mind. Perhaps they were used to Caleb and his strange ways.

The children played around us, running and laughing, and I wished I had my camera. The playground was lit in full sun, and the children were all dressed how we should all be dressed-in fun colors and prints and designs. Caleb tilted his head back and closed his eyes. I did the same.

The sun shown through my lids, so I saw downy pink. I heard the children laughing and screaming in delight over their games. I felt the warmth of the sun, and then I felt it. Like butterfly kisses, there were these tiny bursts of energy along my skin causing goose-flesh to break out. I felt like I was being tickled.

I felt warmth, and joy and love surrounding me. I heard Caleb start to giggle then laugh, and I felt the overwhelming urge to do the same. We held hands and laughed together. The laughter painted me inside and out, and I realized there is so much beauty and joy in the world. It was time to let the darkness go.

I wonder what my happy looks like now.

The Shadow of You

Drifting among gazebos unreal
A spring, summer, fall of my own imagining
Winter frozen like my heart

I see you in my minds eye

I crumble

How to be strong, how to be fearless
When I wander in illusions and dreams

I never knew how to catch you

I never knew how to hold on

Like water through my fingers
You flow
So long

So many have slipped past my clutching grasp
I thought: Let go, let be
If love is true, you will come back to me

Like a star hidden behind clouds,
My love remains

A cold burning bright
Flickering, flickering
Out with the dawn

A brighter light can overcome this lingering pain
This lingering flame

I don’t know how to let go
Like a cold, broken heart
When I see you I crumble

I fear your face and voice

I crumble

To replace this sorrow and pain
With joy and love
Is not an easy task

But I am willing to try again

I am willing to believe and trust
In something new again
I am willing to let in a new beautiful dawn
To overcome these shadows

The shadow of you.

The Doll

Mildred didn’t want to get out of bed. The morning was freezing, and she could see frost on her windows. The weak morning light filtered in with a depressing blue glow she shut her eyes tightly against. She counted the months and days in her head. It was one year, one month and 16 days since her husband had passed away. Tears welled in her eyes. Oh, Evan. I miss you so. She opened her eyes a slit, and glanced at his side of the bed. Nope, still gone. She only sees him in dreams now, and she contemplates trying this. But no. She flings back the covers suddenly, violently-but then she lies back down.

No, No, it’s time to get up. I must see the sunrise.

It became a habit for her, maybe an obsession. She had to see the sunrise each morning. The golden sun rising and lighting the sky from deep purple, to pinks, oranges, gold and pale blue. This was one thing she could count on, and she didn’t want to miss it. She sat up slowly and put on the green fuzzy slippers Evan had bought her years ago. The slippers were fading, and the holes had been stitched with care by her. She knew she would have to let them go soon, but not today. She put on her pink robe, the one she had found at the Salvation Army for 50 cents that was too short in the sleeves. But she loved it. It was perfect for her-the too short sleeves- as she often accidentally dipped her sleeves in her tea or soup or dishwater. She had her morning tea with honey and lemon and thought of her Grandmother and all the people that have passed from her life. She couldn’t wait to see them again.

The sky was lightening, so she hurriedly put on her walking shoes and coat and set out. The morning was chilly, but not as cold as she thought. She blew her breath and could just see it. It was tolerable. She glanced to the East; the sun was barely peaking over the rooftops in the distance. She could hear the morning traffic as she began to walk the familiar route along her neighborhood. Stanly the neighbor’s terrier eagerly accompanied her for a few houses down, then turned and trotted back glancing at her once and giving her a huff. He sensed her mood she imagined, plus she forgot his treat. Silly little dog.

Everyone’s city ordained garbage can was out on the curb with the metal bar facing the street for easier access for the robotic arm on the new expensive garbage trucks her city was now using. She tried to make a mental note to remember to set her garbage out when she got back, but let the thought fade. Now that she was alone, it seemed to take forever for her to fill that giant trash can the city gave to each household. On trash days, she would sometimes find furniture, clothes or toys laid out on top for those that drive by looking for free goodies. She sometimes felt sad for these unwanted objects being thrown away. There is so much waste in the world.

The clouds were turning pink now with golden-orange lining and she sighed. She felt at peace. The sky was so beautiful she stared up at it for several steps and almost tripped. She looked down and saw a doll in her path. She picked it up. Her immediate reaction was:
Wow, she’s beautiful!

The doll was made of porcelain, and had dark brown ringlets framing her face. Her eyes seemed so lifelike, they shined. Must be glass, she thought. She looked to the nearest house. It was the Ramirez’s pink stucco house nearby, and she walked up the walkway and rang the door. Doris Ramirez answered the door and gave Mildred a smile, but then saw the doll. Her eyes widened and she made a shooing gesture with her hands. Mildred held the doll up, and began,” I found this on the sidewalk...” but Doris had started to close the door speaking in Spanish. Mildred knew very little Spanish but she understood: “No! No! Tírelo! Tírelo!” Throw it out!

It was obvious to Mildred Mrs. Ramirez didn’t want the doll. In fact, Mrs. Ramirez seemed terrified of the doll. Mildred thought she had even heard her say: El Diablo. The Devil? Mildred looked down at the precious doll and decided to take her home.

Once back in her kitchen, she set the doll down at the table and gave her a good look. The doll was an antique but in immaculate condition. Not a hair misplaced or a scratch on her fine pinkish skin. The doll was in perfect condition even though it had been in the elements who knew how long, and it was curious to find her warm-not cold at all. Mildred made a cup of tea and mused about the doll. All her nieces had grown up, and she herself only had a son that was grown and moved away. No grandchildren yet. She had always wanted a daughter, had even dreamed of her little face for so many years; A face that closely resembled the doll’s. She decided then and there to keep the doll for herself, and thought of a name for her. Bonnie? Pearl? Rose? Rose. Rose fit perfectly as the doll had rosy cheeks and her little taffeta and lace dress was a pinkish–rose hue with white lace fringe. She is like the morning sunrise! Mildred thought. The doll’s mouth was partly opened as if she might speak at any moment.

“What dear? Oh yes! What fun we will have together!”

Mildred laughed then dropped her tea cup. The shattering of the cup jarred her back to reality.

Numbers

I am 59 dear he said
How old is my soul I wonder?
30, 50, 100?
Do numbers..does age truly matter?
At a certain point..with the weight of life
And the certainty of death,
I think age and numbers fall away.

How old is my heart?

I feel newborn sometimes or unborn even..
A baby bird trying to hatch from its shell,
A metal shell
In hell

How hard can it be to love?

How hard should it be to open new wings
And fly again?
Is there any way to tell?

Numbers....

I want to laugh.

Numbers...

I cry instead.

How can it matter the weight of years
When inside....
One hasn't even been born?

How forlorn

And troubling this is
This emphasis on numbers
One, two I love you...
Does that even matter?
Three, four I could go on
and on and on with you...

But let us close the door on the matter.

The Death of Mr. Faerie

What is that?! Sandra woke up on Sunday morning to find her cat had killed and dragged in another dead animal.
What in the world… She bent down to get a closer look at the mangled and winged body, and her eyes widened.
“George! Get in Here! Oh, my God!” She saw the face, and then saw the little shoes.
“George!”
Her husband rushed into the room, his face half-lathered in shaving cream.
“What?” What?! Where’s the fire?” He looked down at the body. “Benny got another one, huh? Ugh. What a mess!”
Sandra looked up at him. “No, honey. Look!” She pointed at the little face, at the shoes.
“Why that’s a strange looking bird! Or is it some sort of insect? Looks like a moth or butterfly with those wings.”
“Honey, it has a human face! It’s wearing clothes!”
“I don’t have my glasses on dear, but what you are saying is impossible. Calm down, let me throw it in the trash.”
“Just look!”
“Oh jeez.” George gave a big sigh. “Let me go get my glasses.”

He went back into the bathroom, and Sandra gave the creature another look and then glanced at her cat. Benny ignored her and was cleaning his bloodied paws. She felt she would be sick.
“You think I should call the police?” She said softly, mostly to herself.
George came back into the room now adorned with glasses and with the shaving cream gone. ”Hmm?”
“Oh, nothing…just look please. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
George looked, and then looked again. He turned pale and then took a deep breath. “It looks like its neck was broken,” he said softly. “And one of his, I mean its legs was torn off. He stood up suddenly and said. “I’m throwing this in the trash.”
Sandra was on the other side of the room holding her arms folded across her body.
‘But George, WHAT IS IT?!”
“It doesn’t matter what it was,” He stressed ‘was’. “It is dead now.”
“Do you think we should call the police?” Or the news, she almost added. But who wants the attention?
“Honey, if we call the police with the story that our cat dragged in some tiny little winged man, they will only call the men in the white coats. Or worse, they will take us seriously and call in scientists to investigate or the media.” Here he shivered. “No, it is best we destroy all evidence, and forget all this.”

Sandra looked at their cat. He was an orange half-feral tabby and looked a lot like that cat Morris from those old cat food commercials, except her cat was leaner and more solidly built-like a tank. She had found him in a nearby park. He was thin, but looked happy enough rolling around in the grass. She got it in her mind to rescue him though and brought him home. And he has proven to be the most unusual animal. He loved the rain and rolling in mud. He often would guard her while she slept. And though he has dragged in some unusual critters before, this absolutely took the cake. She didn’t know she even had crawfish in her yard, until he dragged one in with its pincers removed. She had thought he had brought in some alien or baby Cthulhu and the old ones had arrived. Sandra was highly imaginative. She could have blamed her imagination on Mr. Faerie-as she was now calling the strange creature-but her husband had seen it too. She suddenly felt very tired, and wanted to go lie down.
“You do what needs to be done dear.” She said to her husband, and then went into their bedroom to hopefully go back to sleep and pretend the whole matter was some strange nightmare.

George looked down at the little body. It was only the size of a sparrow, but had the wings of a butterfly. The wings were very long and thin and iridescent. He thought they were merely white, but at a different angle shone in a multitude of hues like a rainbow. The creatures face was like a human's, but twisted in such a tortured expression it was hard to make out the features. The hair was blond and cut short. The clothes were all bloodied and appeared to be made from plants. The neck was broken and the head hung limply when he lifted the creature from the carpet. There was a blood stain below him.
“Oh, damn,” he said softly and began to cry a little. “What is this?”

Sandra couldn’t fall back asleep. She thought of her cat instead of the creature. She once entertained the idea that her cat was some strange agent that protected her family from ghouls and beasties and things that go bump in the night. He had a strange, wise ancient look in his eyes. He never meowed. And she lost count of how many animals he has brought in-many unusual-that she couldn’t name. She still is not sure if that was a crawfish that time or not, or that strange lizard that one time, like a mini Komodo dragon. Plus, she has the most unusual dreams when he is around. He speaks to her in dreams, but she never can remember what message he is trying to convey. And when she would wake, he would be right there staring at her with knowing eyes.

Suddenly, she sat up in bed with a jolt. What if there are others? My goodness, how many of those things are out there?! She got out of bed, and rushed to find her husband. She found him outside just closing the lid on their garbage can outside. “George! George, what if there are more! What if they come looking for their friend?” She looked for Benny, and found him at the back sliding doors. He was staring outside, looking at something in the sky. Oh, I hope he is watching birds, she thought.