Fiction, prose

map

Her breath pliable, she crouched down in that corner, the one that didn’t fit like a glove.
Her movements were whispers, soft and borrowed from someone she couldn’t remember, but they had told her to use them in times such as these. The movements abandoned her though, as she started crying the music her mother used to sing to her.

 

Standard
General bewilderment, prose

fraud

He nodded. With his eyes. Cloudy with the beers they hadn’t shared yet. And she heard it all through the phone.
She hated letting him down again.

The walking out of the ocean. She, wearing the heaviness like a medal. Then she hit the no resistance of the air.
And she flew.

Until that last wave hit.
Filled with shells and rocks, or maybe the debris of shells and rocks. And the clawing of it inside-outed her.

Lying in the sand of her authenticity, she’s exfoliated down to she’s not sure what happened. But the ocean took that medal back.

Or maybe, she gave it back.

 

He wished she knew.
Those clouds burst, and ran down his cheeks.

 

 

Standard
General bewilderment, Poetry

I’m sorry but

I am pretty darn sure

you have the wrong person

I’m in over my head

haunted by the same lesson

these tasks I must do

were assigned by mistake

erroneously typed

and blown into the lake

where only I was swimming

(in other dialect: drowning)

*or is that were?

See,

I am not ready for this

this palpable knowing

that pushes me deeper

into shades of unglowing

(or autocorrected

that would be ungluing)

I keep walking around

bumping into your words

you insist I should be there

your aim, it disturbs.

But nothing comes out

knotting up lonely fears

into a bullet proof vest…

Standard