Sense MemoryI developed taste.We lost touch.
CrowBarGot hammered.Nailed her.Husband saw.
ItchyFirst anniversary: Paper.Our love unfolded.Seventh anniversary: Wool.It all unravelled.
A NecklaceHis apology's stonesmatched the bruises.
FisticuffsCall me odd?Now we're even.
Cupid Switches to Live AmmunitionEros' llama? I am all sore.
Unreliable NarratorSherlock Holmes stories?They were doctored.
Blue is for BoysBabysitter-painted nails.Daddy-painted bruises.
Airhead (Oxymoron)Empty-headed.But so full of himself.
.i would shed my skinwith autumn, but my veins wouldcrack like the dry leaves
Tallulah the Drama QueenTallulah was a beautiful and charming young woman, with hair as red as an autumn leaf, as black as a winter night, as blue as a stormy sea. Depending on how the mood and the hair dye took her. She was also intelligent and highly ambitious. As soon as she was old enough, she went out into the world to seek her fortune.Unfortunately, this didn't work out and she came back home to live with her parents. It wasn't a happy situation for any of them, and one day Tallulah returned to the house to find the locks changed and her bag packed, with a housing benefit application form tucked into the handle. She took the hint, and went and sought cheap, rented accommodation.She found it in a semi-detached house owned by a completely detached man. Jack was quite old – even older than her parents. At least fifty. After she'd been lodging with him for a few weeks, she realised that no friends ever came to visit, he never spoke to his neighbours, he never spoke on the phone. He seemed uncomforta
GenerousThere’s this pressure buildingin my chest that I don’t knowwhat to do with so I cram masonjars with cookies, craft mixtapes full of Americana punk, leafthrough used bookstores, lookingfor a taste you never savored, songs you neverheard, books you never read and maybeI can give you that instead of my feelings.
InnocentSammy woke abruptly from his dream.He was back in the garden in the sunshine but the scene was still vivid in his mind. Mummy pale and lifeless with bruises on her throat. Daddy slumped over her, blood seeping from his chest.Sammy's mother glanced across at him."That's a lovely smile, sweetheart," she said.
The Language of LoveFeminine plural.Third person.Feminine singular.
Life's Little IroniesThanksgiving evening.AA buffet.Cold turkey.
Religion Free DVD PlayerAs an avowed atheist, I've always despised overt religious subtext in my movies. So when I ran across a back-alley electronics shop offering "Religion Free DVD Players", I snatched one up faster than a Southern Baptist preacher could call out, "Hallelujah!"Set-up was a breeze, thank Nobody. So the first movie I popped in was one of my favorites, The Wizard of Oz.Well, by the time the angelic Glinda introduces herself to saintly little Dorothy in front of the Munchkin choir, I was already beginning to suspect that something might be off. And it only got worse, as her ragtag band of pilgrims undergoes their yellow-brick hajj to the Emerald Mosque: complete with the decadent drug-fueled temptation to abandon the journey; the air assault by, and subsequent ritual stoning of, Satan's winged minions; the circling of the Ka'aba while searching for its concealed entrance; the ultimate purification of Evil with a convenient bucket of holy water; the climactic meeti
The TranslatorMalena was born on the third of April, a heady Aries and a talented translator. She only waited for so long before she put her foot down and took charge of her destiny, riding it like a child of the sea would a dolphin.She began her job with diligent care from the moment she first awakened from the drowsiness of the very young and into the slow comprehension of children. She first translated her own simple thoughts to the world in an agonized cry - 'I'm hungry! I'm hungry!' - first in the Spanish words of her parents and then repeated in the strange, native Tupi dialect of her Mestizo nanny. The dark-skinned woman had gasped in fear and tried to cover the child's mouth before any of those of the house heard and fired her for teaching Malena to speak the wrong language. But before she could even reach out towards the tiny mouth, the great wooden doors of the child's room burst open to admit Malena's fiery, proud mother. 'She speaks! Oh, she speaks!' the Spanish lady cried, waving a whi
The Wardrobe and the Diamond PalaceChapter 1 GrannyThe smell always hit me when I first walked into the lobby. It was made up of wee, cabbages and Parma violets, all mixed with that peculiar sweet old-lady smell people seem to get given when they retire from work along with the carriage clock and the department-store vouchers. It grew stronger as I went up in the lift and down the corridor to flat 327. After that, I stopped noticing the smells except those ones unique to my granny's flat itself: Murray Mints, pine-scented furniture polish and pot pourri.There was a little brass door-knocker in the shape of a squirrel; the tail was the bit you knocked. My granny would always be standing just inside the doorway waiting because it took her just the same length of time to get to the door from her chair as it took me to get all the way up seven floors in the lift and along the corridor.She was my great-grandmother but I called her granny because my mum did; I thoug
War HeroesBoots left home.Flags came back.
Mourning“It’s not like that; there’s nothing wrong with mourning your wife. Everyone deals with it in their own way. But now – sometimes. . . It’s just that sometimes you get this look on your face that’s less I wish she were here, and more I wish I were with her, and that scares me a little bit.”
Story of My LifeThe feds believe I broke character.
Lost VirginityHe took pride;She claimed shame.
Word ProblemsA is on a train traveling west at 60 mph. A is going to meet his friend, B. A can only misuse the things he has – A always buys a new pair of shoes instead of taking care of the pair he owns. A is careless with the words that compose his existence and is now down to one-hundred-and-sixty-four words; twenty-eight of them have been misplaced, snow taking the place of sleep and substituting happiness when he meant alone. A likes trains because they follow narrow, predetermined paths.B is A’s friend. B is the synaptic connection at the end of a line of thought. B has accommodated A’s trajectory points of interaction for twenty-nine years. B has owned the same pair of loafers for the last eleven years. B has been waiting at the station since one-oh-eight PM for A’s arrival. It is now seven twenty-six PM. How many of A’s remaining one-hundred-and-thirty-six words will it take to fill the silence between them?
Scarlet LetterMy child looks nothing like me.
One of those NightsThe morning sunbeams through the front windshieldlike an intruder:brash and unwelcome, forcing you to wake.Whiskey eyed, smelling like an ashtray,parked at the back endof some ghetto ass neighborhoodwondering what the hell you did the night before.It's like trying to remember wordsyou haven’t written yet.One thing is for certain:a little bit of rope goes a long way,but a lot of ropewill hang you.
WrenchedSometimes I want to open myself up and pluck my own too tightly closed ribcage, pry it apart to see how the inner mechanism works, prove that heartache is just caused by a wrench that fell into the gears. A wrench with your name on it, but something that can be removed all the same.
Picture ThisI drew myself yesterday,All color and dark outlines,That made me stand out more than I ever really could.I put the picture on a wall,Let the sun stain it with warmth and light,Just so I could seeWhat it was like not to be so hollow and cold.After a while, I took it down,Tired of seeing how I could beMore in two dimensionsThan I am when my heart is beating in three
His Better HalfBride/GroomWife/Husband /Widower