Sleep with the Angels

I slumber at the wakening,

tasting the luscious licks of the unwrapped

lollipops, sparks of sun settle

through frost-wintered windows,

white toes chilled against red circulation.

Morning cat meows plead of attention,

circling the unchanged litterbox- recognizing

her own beloved stench. Upstairs

the flowers sing like honeydew- “Me

and Bobby McGee” as we drove

to the scorched heat of Pheonix.

Sitting under moonlit tents, sanctuaries

of bodies held together by blazing fires,

conversation blends as easily as baryonic

matter in the cosmos, sparking brilliant neurons.

The night cold wore us like a blanket

of damped packed sand, the piercing

coals of envy and beauty embered

asymmetrically into the stars like soft

epiphanies. I swallowed the wood-burnt

smoke and ingested the amber flames.

Duerme con los angeles, mi amor,

feathered pillows spoke softly in accord

until the honeydew flowers chanted

the confined lullaby.

 

j.f.

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204

Upon opening the door
Lies dirt ridden shovels
amongst red-spined journals
in apartment two-oh-four.

Black lines appear
on white walls forming
mountains and valleys- a timeline
beginning to end, up and down, up and down.

Steam, the tea kettle screeches
an aroma of green tea and coffee,
familiarize the surroundings,
memories of bodies move through the rooms.

Upon the bedside table
lies the book of love, of fictitious
trickery, words written and uttered
left by the sink, forgotten
as the reflection in turn.

What is love? I ask
you point to the book, left
frivolously scratching your mark, locking
the key taken, I cannot enter.

 

j.f.

Spiderwebs

She sits

solemnly at the dining room

table, trying to find a metaphor

for her creative process, is

it the revealing of one’s

eyes, after removing

sunglasses? The dark

shades, black as dilated

pupils, outstretched when accustomed

to night, revealing the

hidden webs

forming dust-

a forgotten bond.

 

j.f.

Dirty Laundry: A Short Short

Rachael grabbed a white sock off the floor and brought it to her nose, determining if she should put it in the laundry basket or back in the drawer. Revolted by the stench, she threw it towards the basket. It landed right in the center of a dirty dish her husband left on the ground from the night before.

“You can’t be serious,” Rachael blurted out, looking directly at her husband lying on the bed watching another survival show, “You’re going to lay there watching me pick up after your filth you leave all over the house.”

Carter averted his eyes from the screen and looked at Rachael, not even a little surprised at her little outburst. “I don’t remember you asking me to help you,” he said as a matter of fact.

“Do I really have to ask you to help me out a little bit? I shouldn’t have to ask you in the first place! Stop being such a pig!” She picked the sock off the greasy plate and shoved it into the crammed laundry basket.

“Oh, you’re going to start with this tonight,” Carter said, setting the remote on the pillow, starting to stand.

“Yeah, it’s going to be this night again. Maybe if you got off your lazy ass every once in a while, you’d be able to watch your tv in peace,” Rachael said as her cheeks scorched. Maybe she went too far this time. Carter kept walking toward the door as if he didn’t hear her.

“Now you’re just going to ignore me? Come on, Carter, what are we doing?” Rachael pleaded. He kept on walking, now out the door towards the stairs. “Oh, there you go, walk away, just like you always do.”

Carter turned around and faced her, eyes widening, voice still cool, “Yep, I’m walking away. Watch me walk away” he said, and calmly walked down the stairs.

“You can’t be serious!” Rachael yelled out, her eyes burning red. “Don’t you walk away from me! You know I can’t stand it when you do that!” She reached toward the laundry basket and grabbed whatever could fit in her hands and tossed it everywhere. She couldn’t stop herself, wailing, scorching tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. After all of the contents were dispersed, on the bed, on the floor, in the bathroom, on the nightstand, she flailed herself on the bed and finally allowed the tears to escape.