Overage

My aunt, the forty-something jaded college dropout and hypochondriac says I’ll feel the consequences of my bad decisions later. She tells me my youth is going to bite me in the derriere one day. She says derriere with the best French accent she can muster, but money can’t buy you culture. She stares at my youth with jealousy and is on a constant voyage to emulate it in anyway possible. The problem is that she completely and totally misses the mark. Skin-tight, low riding jeans are not for forty-somethings, and the rhinestones are not fashionable for any age. Maybe age 5.

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Homecoming

When her little brother Mikey came home from college in May, he was fat. Kara stared. The unfamiliar roundness of his face, meaty hands, a bulge above his belt buckle. Same baby blue eyes though. They darted shyly as he stood in the doorway with his suitcases. His new weight hung strangely on him. The living room seemed smaller.

“Mikey!” She took fast steps to cross the room, wrapped her arms around him tightly. She wished that she could squeeze away the heaviness blanketing his torso, remnants of beers drunk without thought in some dark basement where Mikey didn’t belong.

The Mailman Still Came

Jerry had been a man of many correspondences. Letters came, months after his death, names she hadn’t even thought to notify. To Jerry, Dearest Jerry, Hello my Jerry. Blue ballpoint friendships; she felt like an intruder.

She hardly cried anymore. Imagine, after forty-seven years! Now, as she looked out at the mailbox, buttercup ten o’clock sun streaming through the window, she felt that perhaps Jerry was just out for a walk.

She dried her hands on her apron and wrote:

Dear Mrs. Henley,

This is Jerry’s wife, Eleanor. I received your letter to him and must reply with sad news….           

Landing

The glint of the sun off the Cessna’s polished wing made the sky even more diamond-like in his eyes. Close below, oversized glaciers flowed between untouched mountains. They had circled twice now, just above his new home – Wrangell, Alaska.

The pilot called back from the cockpit, “Moose on the tarmac! Taking its sweet time!”

“Can’t they shoo it away?”

“Have you ever tried to get a moose to move?”

“No.”

The pilot chuckled. “Look, the mighty Stikine!”

It all seemed sharp and beautiful as an ice crystal to him. He’d never been outside the Midwest, and he ached to land.

Desert Festival

Gliding across frizzled grass sticking up in a fray like hair on a balding man’s head, the energy never stops giving. It’s like Hanukkah except with more lights. Where everything equalizes in the heat and dandelions become meeting places.  Hands encircle around hands like knots formed neatly by sailors, weaving through the throbbing throngs of thousands just like us. In other hands we clasp crinkled plastic vessels, the mark of every wise citizen in this temporary and fleeting city. There are no walls but somehow reverberation is happening all around. Music pervades everything Swag. Shake. Sweat. This is a world.

void if removed or tampered with.

At IHOP at 3am after Coachella and the waitresses are on ecstasy and the chef is Kanye West and rock and roll is never gonna die. And, damn that falafel from before wasn’t half bad, but who needs a wristband when you’ve got nice tits? Not that this wristband is ever coming off, because it isn’t, until it does. My feet hurt and my iPod is horny. Gosh I heard a lot of swear words this weekend. I snuck lots in past security but I left behind about 65 hours of youth in America. Who the fuck is Kanye West?

Free Speech Friday (II)

“I see,” said Edwin from his circle of sitting free-speakers, “a little kid begging his mom for ice cream from the good ice cream man.” The kid didn’t notice as half the plaza turned to look, but his mom did. “The mom is wearing a beautiful green sun dress, and she’s telling her son, no, no ice cream now. The ice cream man is smiling!”

Half the plaza grinned with them, including the mom. “He got to have one yesterday!” she shouted, abashed and happy.

“That’s OK kid,” said Edwin, “I’m on your side, but I guess mom knows best.”

Free Speech Friday (I)

“This is free speech Friday,” called Erwin. “A magic amplification stick and anyone is welcome to say anything into it.” The mic fell to his side while he took a moment to look at the bustling plaza life below him.

“Today I see a woman in turquoise glasses eating a Caesar salad. There is a man next to her eating the same kind of salad. They both have jeans and a white shirt on.” The couple looked up at him, smiling sheepishly.

“I see,” Edwin continued, “an Asian man walking a weiner dog. One of his shoes is halfway untied.”

Next by Claudia

It is that unexpected happening that throws us for a curve
Insane moments we surmount and move through
Then frightfully have them suck the air from our cocoon
We watch disease riddled final days from a safe distance

Life happens
Then it halts with grinding force

And yet we seldom anticipate it until sorrow claws into us
Remorsefully we are then ashamed at our behavior
We beat ourselves up for not calling, not listening
Not being supportive or present
Not witnessing the wave upon us
And in the horror of the night, we wonder when it will be our turn.

Dry Eyes

My eyes have been dry all day. No tears here. Un-lubricated, scratchy rolling eyeballs just sitting in their sockets like bacteria-ridden barnacles.

I drank more water than a person should, and peed it right out again. Something’s wrong with my aqueducts. The Amazon floods, and drought encircles the Sahara.

Dry eyes behind thick glass lenses. Images flipped, fuzzed, focused, held together by habit of seeing. Carport carpet. Rub until they are red.

The engine shut down because it’s completely out of oil. Load her up, and it’s still going to take quite a few pulls to get her started again.

To Each His Own by Claudia

I stepped into the elevator just as the doors were closing
It was 6:35am; the elevator full of coworkers
The doors snapped at my shoulders
No one shuddered, flinched or uttered a giggle
As people exited, one coworker told me ‘good morning’
Good grief he had not reacted to my being squeezed by the doors
‘Too early’, he mumbled
Was it too early to be concerned? To notice? To react?
What does it take to feel compassion? Blood? Loss of limb?
Have we arrived at the threshold of discarding feelings for others?
Perhaps I should consider taking the stairs tomorrow.

Untitled

Myth of sunshine
Myth of rain
Miracle of beestings
Life of water mains

Bridge to starfish
Horde of nickels
Clues for fossils
Blood cells trickle

North of Main Street
South of Cleopatra
Legends of carpentry
And parties with tantrics

Think to relish hot dogs
Think to maintain fame
Covering of portals
Oak trees in flame

Fingers in channels
Optics to sentences
Gymnasiums with artichokes
Hearsay over fences

Rumors of earthquakes
Rumors of rumors
Inner ear of reason
Slow growth of tumors

Heart of tree rings
Stub of old tires
Flyer with stick figures
Chapters in lead wires
Heartache of fires

How to be Nice

Here’s the manual, here’s how it’s done. Come, students, parents, lawyers, baseball players, architects and bartenders, and learn the deep secret on how to be nice.

Be tolerant on input, and strict on output.

Accept anything anyone gives you. Give people a break when they are having a bad day or being too emotional. Give everyone the benefit of the doubt.

Never assume other people will act the same to you. Be a crisp and clear communicator. Make it as easy as possible for other people to understand you. Don’t let your emotion of the moment get in your way.

Someone Had to Say it

“Our relationship doesn’t work because I met my girlfriend at a weird point in my life.”

“My job is hard because I was never trained right.”

Excuses, all of ‘em. One day you realized your relationship is weird, or that your job is hard, or whatever, then you looked for excuses that people at parties would accept when you tell them about your life.

Look, it was your personality, your own weakness and pessimism, that made you initially accept that your relationship wasn’t working or that your job was hard. These aren’t inevitable conclusions.

Most people are full of shit.