A Path Home

– I feel the fuzz of the carpeting against my cheek, along with a kind of numbness which somehow makes the individual threads of the material more present. The light from the upstairs floods down toward me, the way water runs down shingles in a storm. The first blur I make out, upon gaining consciousness, is completely subdued by the kind of shapeless cognizance the light’s flood brings. Everything is shapeless, yet colorful. As I rise to my feet, I feel a different form of lightness. Not the kind of lightness that leaves you without breath and panicking for explanation, […]

November 12, 2012

Shadow Origami

– I shiver. There’s a breeze in the structure. An eave out of place, one of the rafters being defeated by the winter’s campaigns. I sit upstairs, waiting amidst mostly empty rows of metal folding chairs. The whisper of winter travels down the rows and around chairs. Its resolve wanes and ignites and sometimes slams against the frozen back of chairs. I sit, shivering. I wait. I am early still. Not early in the way that fowl sometimes wakes and anticipates the sun, but I am early, in a less rigid sense of the word. I shiver and I wait […]

October 25, 2012

Then the dust settled…

-All morning the house had been shaking, quivering in the same way lungs collapse, expand and collapse again, the small arteries shivering against the force. I stepped out. I could not stand the violence. You remained. Inside, underneath, holding to one of the door frames, pretending the wooden rectangle hid you from the sight of God. Pretending the quaking was from some unknown force. With a shy smile, wearing innocence as if it were yours and not, as was the case, what you had stolen from the neighborhood kids while they obliviously rode their bicycles and played hopscotch in the […]

October 20, 2012

Fall’s First Scent

– It was a Thursday. The clouds were scattered in the sky the way pillows remain. Stilled, after a night on the battlefield of slumber, after hours of twisting and turning in the dark of night. They greet the morning light in the same manner. Soft white mounds with expanses in between. There was a darkening in the sky, amidst the bright blue stretch beyond the white bulbous forms. The air was beginning to turn, the way it does after the last embers of the fire are suffocated and their absence becomes filled and swept from memory. The scent of […]

October 11, 2012

Leaves in their Graves

– There’s a crunching, like the solitary sound of a gazelle making its way through a meadow at midnight, as I cross the lawn. The dead leaves of fall fill the empty dirt spaces, a battlefield of winter. I am the giant. I am like god. I look under foot and see the fractured bits of leaves in their different colors. I shiver as I reach the driveway. There are no leaves on the car or under it, as if this were a sacred space. I open the door and leave behind the battlefield, the leaves’ and my own. I […]

October 2, 2012

She Whispers

– “You’re too much in your head,” I hear her whisper in my ear. I can feel the warmth of her breath, as she says this. It vibrates and tickles the folicles of my ear. I smile and turn. She’s quick. The room is empty by the time I turn. Her scent lingers. The mixture of her own unique chemistry and Burberry, a scent sweeter than any ever hosted at department store beauty counters. I close my eyes then and breath it in, deeply. I can hear her giggle, distantly, like she’s in the next room. She could be anywhere. […]

September 30, 2012

Being and Nothingness

-There’s nothing there, he thinks, as he sits on the crumbling sand mound at the edge of the water’s reach. The fading reflections of twilight slowly removing the shape of the world, as the water persists in its process of erosion. He can sense his shape, even if he can barely make out his own outline. If he waves his arms at the sky, as if attempting to attract the attention of a star – perhaps salvation, then for a breath he can assert he still retains an outline. His arms tire quickly however, and the act of verifying his […]

September 16, 2012

Dust & Us

-You weave into me, in the moments our breath meets, in the moments we share our failing skin, the same which becomes dust as we become dust together, in the moments we sit and age, as the world continues its spinning on the axis of our becoming more each other. We become more of everyone as we wipe off the dust and breath in the bits we do not see, inhaling the bits of you, the bits of me, the bits of everyone we’ve shared moments with; and we breath in everyone and ourselves, as our breath becomes diminished, and […]

August 10, 2012

Portrait

-The light is dim, like setting; the sun before it’s gone. The fading citrus hue, cascading against the wall. The hills and slopes, silhouettes against an expanse of white. Movement crests and falls, a shadow breathing on the wall. The image of sleep, the silhouette, a last image before slumber. A paradise that only exists in moments, before sleep and in dreams.

July 11, 2012

The Bike and the Monkey

-The stories my daughter tells at three… She lays on the bed. Morning light starting to invade the room. Her little arms resting on her belly, as if in a form of contemplation. She giggles to herself; every memory begins this way, every daydream also, and sometimes, her sleep is threaded around the same giggles of imagination. Her eyes glisten in the morning light, the way you imagine the spark of epiphany. With a curl to her lips, her head tilts, her eyes search for daddy, lighting up the room. Her smile widens when her search has ended, and for […]

July 7, 2012