prickles & shards

my skin is covered in more prickles

than you can count on a cactus

and a tougher shell than the coconut,

the one your hammer could never splinter.

 

but my insides are a sort of hollowness,

compartments of air separated by a fractal

fashioned from blown glass,

the etched orbs on trees at christmas,

or lightning struck sand.

 

when you hurl my shape at the ground

my outsides don’t show a scratch

or a dent from first impressions of the pavement.

 

but the concavity within is filled

piles of shattered shards

sharp on the edges and

swept neatly to the sides.

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Pray For Me

“You’re quiet, Anne, I can tell that something’s nagging at you.” Omar gazed at her unblinking. “What’s wrong? How can I pray for you?”

Anne shook her head and tried to see where the rest of their friends had got off to. They were buying Gobstoppers.

“Come on, Anne. God’s laying you on my heart right now. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I can explain it.”

“Do you want to try?”

“Not really.”

Omar shook his head.

“Would you pray for me though?” she asked.

“Of course.” He followed her out of the Cineplex, into the dark parking lot.

My Body Can Handle It (The Shit)

I dropped a tortilla chip. Two bits cracked off when it struck the sidewalk.

As I reached down for it, a man behind me said, “You going to eat that chip?”

“Huh?” I said, looking from the yellow chip to him. “Why not?”

“You know what’s happened on that sidewalk? All the shit spilled on there? Oil, gas, poison, gum, chemicals. I wouldn’t put none of it in my mouth.”

I shrugged. “If it’s on the sidewalk, then it’s in the air too. My body’s been getting shit my whole life, and I’m fine. Hate to waste a good chip.”

Construction

“Hey guys I picked up some milk for you at the store on the way over.” -A

“What? A whole gallon?” -B

“A whole gallon? Wow.” -C

“Yep. A whole gallon.” -A

“You didn’t tell him we only need like a cup?” -B

“I told you before, I don’t think they sell just a cup.” -C

“Yeah I know but you could have told him to buy less than a gallon.” -B

“Guys.” -A

“I texted him that we needed a little milk.” -C

“How the hell is he supposed to know what that means?” -B

“Guys, it’s cool.” -A

Postcards From

He never used Wite-Out when he would write me postcards. Sometimes he would cross things out. But not often, and when he did, I could still read what he had scribbled over. The mistakes he made revealed that his writing was rushed and honest. He made no plan or draft, yet the message felt all the more genuine for it. Some sentences were too long, and he knew it. There were misspellings and large words where small ones would’ve done the job as well. We both understood the deal. Honesty, no Wite-Out. He didn’t need it. We didn’t need it.

Austin, TX

Hey welcome to Austin, hop in my Jeep. I’m Chris, it’s great to meet you. Before we get to where we’re goin’ let me get you acquainted with things. Back behind us is the capitol building, it’s as big as the White House. That’s Hopdoddy, the best burger you’ll ever have. On your right, there’s Allen’s Boots, they were on TV on the big AmEx commercial. Here’s Magnolia – they’re open 24 hours but their food’s not great but they serve booze. Annnnd here we are, here’s home. Meet my goats, Pumpkin and Pecan, and my dogs, Gallie and Roxie.