Here I am, All of Me

Human Eraser

2008-04-07T00:02:00.004-05:00

Sweet 16, innocence and bliss,
Arrogant youth buoyant with trust,
in six months shattered, true love's kiss,
and its angry shadow, no more than lust.

Lost out at sea and so unaware,
I cling to the drifting delusions,
with your arms as my life vest, there's nothing I fear,
unwilling, unable to see past your illusions.

Long heart to hearts
and intentions so pure,
nine words it takes to blast me apart,
gone is the one thing of which I was sure.

I cling and I wait for week upon week,
my many false hopes beginning to wane,
hearts humbled and crumbled, persistence made meek,
never has life held such unending pain.

My attempts to move on,
briefly foiled by the past,
I continue to drown in this deadly pain,
this new love won't last.

After years of openness between myself and yours,
she spars her way in and things start to change,
You lock up your secrets, your soul will not pour,
She is a mystery far out of range.

I am not worthy, cut from your life,
tainted, unwanted, and void of my faith,
I am cut to the quick with your butterfly knife,
You've no reservations, and I fade like a waif.

Adonai Tzidkenu

2007-04-06T21:45:00.000-05:00

I creep in shadows.
My selfish ways are clouds,
barricades to the light.

Sweet purity and innocence
hover close to me.
A fog whose moisture
of blood undeservedly flowing
could wash my heart
free of its pollution of sin.

I turn my ear from the distressed
and heart-wrenching cries
my savior weeps for me in desperation,
instead using my pride
and steep stubbornness to inflate the gaps
that are left when everything else
has failed me.

My heart, porous as my ears are resistant,
steeps in the Word
and echoes back His plea.
Whimpers, knowing what help it needs,
though my actions lash out in blindness.
Hope rests on my shoulders,
not all is lost.

And when pride is wounded
and stubbornness weakened
I am left alone
with that which I so defied,
knowing that the righteousness
He accredited to me
was never mine.

No longer do I stand
with knives of mulish transgressions
deflecting the light
from entering my heart.
My only joy,
my fountain of life,
Are my tears of elation,
reflecting that light,
that love,
to the world.

Tessa

2007-04-05T10:01:00.002-05:00

A miracle second to none in this world
The spark of a star freshly born
Polished and perfect before us she’s curled
Dark thoughts from minds are soon torn.

Cradled and warm in grandfather’s arms
With daddy nearby standing guard,
Not a soul can approach with intentions to harm
Hopes for this child stand strong and unmarred.

A beauty that baffles even elaborate dreams
A room full of praise for a most precious gift
A small sigh to trickle past lips as a stream,
Through cards of warm welcome they begin now to sift.

A baby brings joy, a baby brings tears,
A baby's a future to unfold through the years.

Sunrise

2007-04-05T10:01:00.001-05:00

Morning
Bright dewy mist
Yawning over the hill
Waking everyone from slumber
Bonjour.

Tritones

2007-04-05T10:00:00.000-05:00

The devil’s chord grinds harshly on the ears
Reverberations letting the heavy anger
settle in the room.

Augmented fourths from f to b
And back again
Diminished fifths.

Played but once, your fate is set
The moment one foot is layed upon the cathedral stoop
The stones pound hard against what could have been your future.

The Silent Snow

2007-04-05T09:59:00.000-05:00

The snow, it falls so silently
In heaps of cold soft cotton.
Muffling the buried screams
That echo deep within.

In heaps of cold soft cotton
I fall as a child into memories
That echo deep within
Of frozen winters past.

I fall as a child into memories
Muffling the buried screams
Of frozen winters past.
The snow, it falls so silently.

Mr. Sun

2007-04-05T09:58:00.000-05:00

The glare of the sand
Sunbeams aren’t so friendly now
The clouds are far gone.

A Wrong Turn

2007-04-05T09:57:00.002-05:00

Poetry is the bravery of novelists unveiled.
The monarch outweighed
the panther.
The smell of moss
the pressure of humidity
and heat.
The sun’s rays
glare back
at my retinas
through the trees.
A macaw screams at me.
Incriminated
by a bird.
The bite of salt on my tongue
the taste of fatigue.
George,
are you sure this is Moscow?
It’s chilly here.
George,
you have a lovely watch,
what is the hour?
Oh snap,
my stomach growled.
The monarch might see
me
as a challenger.
Bashana Haba’ah.
The joyous moon of dreams
The panther comes near
eyes glinting
pounces
and kisses my nose.
I shall flap my arms
and soar to the canopy
where Moscow might be visible.
Cassie, she is clever.
She crafted this piece of genius
that you
are devouring.
When we arrive
we will eat fruit
and it will be sweet
like disgusting honey.
I will go
and blaze my way
across this floor
to that one
and stamp my feet!
I do not fear you!
You can not stop me!
Je t’aime, dear panther!
Te amo tambien,
he answers.
The trees stand tall
in the mist of the Amazon.

Tiny Dancer

2007-04-05T09:57:00.001-05:00

You’re leaking out smiles
and spilling out grins
my heartbeat speeds up
and I feel my head spin.
My eyes gain a shine,
And I feel myself blush
You ask to be mine,
I could fly on this rush.
You just ask for a chance
in hopes that I’ll see
that a simple school dance
might set us both free.

The Odd Couple

2007-04-05T09:56:00.002-05:00

Despite the nosiness
of the butterfly,
the toothy reptiles grin
has
the upper-hand.
One
false move
and
with a click of the teeth,
it’s goodbye,
butterfly.

Objection

2007-04-05T09:56:00.001-05:00

Dirty, tarnished, and worn.
Overused and discarded.
These small trinkets,
though meaningless in the eye of a stranger,
hold more memories than
a grandmother’s quilt
or a grandfather’s shed.
Tradition and expectations,
or surprises and laughter,
the plastic holds many secrets.
The metal is many-faced.
Lacking the sheen of newer things,
those things that mean the most
are oft painted with love
or tears,
and with one small glance
at the glaze of emotions
these baubles
can uproot memories
like strong winds.

Deux

2007-04-05T09:55:00.000-05:00

Tiny stalks grow
so fragile
on the wings of a nightmare.
Rhinoceroses jumping about
breaking all its fragile bones
the ghost of a hand is all I have
dripping metal burns to recall
a kiss of flame
with cloud puffs of white.
The new aspirations and dreams
bluntly funny
pulled me back by a thread,
however,
with a dark shade
a souvenir sculpture
a funny mistake
your voice repeats itself.
As proud as she was
sailing over the fence
it is a constant reminder
it happens so quickly.
By the prayer lay the tears
I can never seem to lose you.

The Color of Heaven

2007-04-05T09:53:00.000-05:00

What secrets lie behind this wall?
Blissful things most unfathomable,
Sweet melodies dripping with the morning dew,
Blades of grass licking the sky, blown in breezes,
And gentle rains rolling down
Window panes like so many silent beads.

What color are angels’ wings?
Gleaming silver, pure and sweet,
or the color of a choir, painting chordal illustrations.
Capped with the ringing of chimes,
Shoed with the deep beat of a timpani,
Glinting in the sun with soft trills of elation.

This world has crawled too near
To simple, fading, things.
When beyond wallets and tears
There lies a glowing revelation
The key to relief and redemption,
Love.

Personal Narrative #2: The Loonie

2007-03-31T13:30:00.000-05:00

"We leave tomorrow," I say. "I'm going to miss you guys so much." The end of the statement is meant only for him.
"Let's not talk about it, or you'll drown us all with your waterworks," he replies. I nod, trying to shake off the feeling of impeding sadness. Droplets of sorrow teeter on my eyelids, despite my best efforts to keep them at bay. We enter the cafeteria and sit down, surrounded by our fellow goodbye-ers. What was an aura of joviality and sweet summer afternoons has descended into a heavy oppression of murmured memories and tearful partings. Sitting there on the hard cafeteria bench, my mind slips back in time...
Upon my arrival at the first of many Group Workcamp experiences, I was quiet, shy and unsure of the other 400 people in the camp. Who is going to be in my work crew? Are they going to like me? Am I going to like them? Will we finish our jobs? What will our resident, or residents, be like? Am I going to make any friends here? Should I just hide in the van for the week? It didn't take very long for me to cast aside those initial fears. Everyone was nice: Luka from Virginia, who never had his video camera turned off; Jared "Canadia" Tyler, who taught me the proper way to say "socks" and how to use the ever-popular "eh"; Hannah, whose swing-dancing skills I would never forget...this camp truly was the experience of a lifetime. I give myself a mental shake, and settle back into the not-so-cheery present.
"Hey, I've got that dollar bill for you." I hand the paper bill to him, and George Washington winks his farewell as the thin green material creases in his grip. I can't help myself, the tears well up again, and as they tumble down my face, words fall out of my mouth in a heart-felt rush.
"Why do you have to live so far away? Nine hours...I'll never see you again after tomorrow." The prospect of goodbye seems a cruel punishment for spending a week helping others.
"Hey, we'll keep in touch, eh?" I promise you I'll write. And there's always the phone. Come on, don't cry." He reaches out to me, and puts his hands on my shoulders, bending to peer into my tear-streaked facade. I can see the reflections of my emotions in his eyes, and I know his sentiments are the same. He sigh and pulls me into a long bear hug and the intercom clicks on. A cheery, "Alright Workcampers! It's 11:50! 10 minutes 'till lights out - your leaders have a lot of driving to do in the morning!" brings the embrace to an awkward end. We step apart, and begin to walk to the cafeteria's entrance.
"Don't leave until I see you in the morning," I say, knowing it's not really up to him.
"I won't," he responds, knowing, too, that the choice is not his to make.
I turn to leave, but a hand on my arms stops me and turns me back to face him. I look into his eyes, confused. Isn't this hard enough? Why is he prolonging this? He takes my hand in his, opens it and places a coin inside my palm. He presses my small fingers over the precious trinket and holds my fist for a brief moment before uttering a soft goodnight and disappearing around the corner. I begin to make my way back to my room without opening my hand, almost afraid that if I do, I will lose this treasure and with it will go the incredible memories of the past week. As I drag my feet along the corridor, my footsteps echo with the recollections of the previous six days.
Prayer.
Friendships.
Jokes.
Hard work.
Games.
Hugs.
Laughter...
When at last I reach my room, weak from the strenuous battle against my tears, I pick my way to my bed through the baggage, clothes, and air mattresses of other girls that are strewn across the room. After I lower myself to the nearly-flat air mattress, I open my hand. The coin is a soft and faded golden hue, its eleven sides reflecting the flourescent lighting of the classroom. Embossed on the front is the image of Elizabeth II, her head adorned with a lustrous and bejeweled crown. How many friends did you make and never see agian, I wonder? With a gentle flick from my thumb the coin is overturned in my hand. There, on the back, is another image. Between the words "Canada" and "Dollar" there is a small loon embellishing the monetary piece. The infamous "Loonie". His dollar.
The next morning, after more sad partings, I lay in the van with silent tears trailblazing their way down my face. I had already read through the notes everyone had written me twice; he had sent me two. For the rest of the ride home, I stayed where I was. Curled up, arms bent in towards my body, and knees brought up towards my chest so that I was nearly in the fetal position. One hand lay right next to my heart. That hand, which had remained closed in a fist throughout the morning, despite the hugs and the waving, still grasped the special treasure. It would stay in my hand until I got home, late that night. when it would be transferred to a small box with a decorated leather cover. It would remain in the box with other small trinkets until someday I blew the dust off of it and opened it to recount the tales from summers and friendships past. Yes, it would remain in the box physically, but I would always carry it near inside.

Personal Narrative #1: Meeting Grandma

2007-03-22T12:03:00.000-05:00

I glance around my home at the abundance of eye-level skirts and slacks. There are so many legs! Feeling slightly overwhelmed, I wander over past the dining room table towards the deck. Before I can reach the slider door, I am intercepted by a woman I have never met, but have seen in pictures.
"Chelsea, this is Gandy. She is Maureen's grandmother," I am told.
"Hi," I say, knowing a greeting is expected. She bends forward and plants a smoky kiss on my head.
"Well, aren't you just the cutest thing!" I smile and look up past her seated figure to the window in the kitchen while she continues with her prattle about my hair, my dimples, and gracious, did my mommy make that pretty pink dress? The question yanks me back from my daydream and I nod yes. Another adult walks over and begins to make small talk with Gandy, so I continue on my quest to the deck. When I reach the slider, I pause knowing that the handle is too high for my short arms to reach it. I gaze through the smeared glass at the adults standing on the vast wooden porch, all of them so absorbed in apparently fascinating conversations about things that are way over my head. I press my nose to the glass, and then lean back to see the cloudy print left behind before smudging it in to match the rest of the door.
"Did you want to go out there, Hun?" A woman's voice from above floats down to my level. I look up at my future step-mom and answer "Uh-huh."
"What do you say?" Her reply is fairly predictable, and I probably should have known better than to provoke it.
"Please?"
"Good girl, watch your step," comes the response. I grin up and toss a quick "Thank you," over my shoulder as I step down onto the porch. I toddle over to the railing to my left and look through the bars, feeling like a prisoner trapped in the banter of lackluster adults. I hear footsteps approaching and I can tell by the soft tap that it is another woman in flats. I turn and my prediction is confirmed by the navy blue shoes next to my jelly sandals. I gaze upwards and cannot believe what my eyes encounter. I was not aware until this moment that a person could be so utterly elderly! I stand there with my mouth agape, my jaw so close to the wooden floor below me I am afraid I may get splinters. As I regain my composure, I say the only thing that has crossed my mind since the moment I saw her.
"You have a lot of wrinkles," the sheer amazement is obvious in my voice.
"Well, yes I suppose I do," she replies, with a soft chuckle that has underlying tones of disbelief. Before responding, I ponder what I should say next. Honesty, they tell me, is the best policy, but the look on her face leads me to believe maybe they were wrong. Nevertheless, I do not want to get in trouble for being rude, and lying to family, stranger though she may be, would certainly be considered rude. I take a deep breath and spout out my carefully calculated comment.
"You must be really old!" Instantly I regret it. Her face goes from disbelieving leniency (thanks to my age) to being completely aghast.
"I guess I am getting up there in years, yes," she says with minor agitation. Uh-oh, I think, wrong thing to say... maybe I should ask a question. Yes, that's a good idea. Tall people like that. The tell me that's how I can learn. Maybe I will learn to say things that will make her smile instead of cringe. Pleased with my quick thinking, I pose a question that is bound to get a great reaction.
"Are you going to die soon?" Her paled cheeks turn rosy and she can't help it - she smiles and even lets loose a quick giggle.
"Well I hope not! Not anytime soon," she shakes her head and turns to go back inside. I promptly think this over, and to reassure her that dying is the last thing I want her to do, I agree with a heartfelt, "Yeah...maybe on the way home then." Apparantly, the fact that this is so far away in time is very comforting to her because she begins to laugh and walks inside to regale others with my clever comments. A few minutes pass and I sit on the steps to reflect on the amount of wrinkles that lady had. She defintely has more wrinkles than I can count on my finger...and my toes...wow! I met the oldest lady in the world! I hear the slider re-open and when I look up my dad is there with the lady.
"Chelsea, I'd like you to meet your Grandmother, Eunice," he says.
"Hi, Nunu," is my excited reply! I am related to the old one! Wait 'till I tell Hannah at school! She is gonna be sooo jealous!!
Today I learned an important lesson - first impressions really do count. I'll probably pay for this one at every family gathering forever and eternity. Something tells me that my dad will never run out of excuses or opportunities to recite this story. And I don't think my family will ever stop laughing at it, either.

Short Story: Autumn

2006-10-30T02:33:00.000-05:00

Autumn sat at the edge of the last table in the row in the dingy lunchroom. She wasn’t alone, not technically, but she knew nothing about the other people at the table. She didn’t speak to them, and they didn’t speak to her. It was as if they had this mutual, unwritten contract not to regard one another’s existence. Had the others chosen to acknowledge her, they still wouldn’t have known anything about her but what they could assume. They would see her mousy brown hair (that would ordinarily reflect the soft fluorescent lighting) tucked carefully into an over-sized hoodie as if it were body armor, and assume that she was anti-social and strange. They would see her bitten nails hastily moved from sight if she sensed eyes in her direction, and they would not see any form of curves on her completely enshrouded body. Her clothing made sure of that.
But, that’s if they even bothered to look. They still would have been wrong, but it would have been something. Maybe I am anti-social, she thought, but everything was different before Monica left. Things have changed since she went so far away from me. Her tone became bitter inside her head, and it saddened her, because she knew it wasn’t her Monica’s fault for leaving. It had only been a matter of time...
Her empty eyes roved across the room, seemingly searching for something, though neither she, nor anyone else for that matter, knew quite what that something was. Especially not the “guidance” counselor, who claimed to know her and her “issues” so well. She shuddered inwardly and took a bite out of the apple that sat next to a healthily-proportioned turkey sandwich. Reflected in the tumultuous gray pools set beneath her un-plucked eyebrows, the cafeteria appeared even more despondent than usual.
The brick walls were maimed by decades of boredom-driven students who had nothing better to do than dig at the corners of the red stones with their pens until they crumbled just a little bit more. The inspirational posters, though dog-eared and outdated, remained dutifully on the walls, portraying their messages of hope to the viewers, who couldn’t care less. Whenever anyone sat down or pulled themselves back to their feet, the benches announced the action with a tired moan and a characteristic creak. There were no longer windows to the outside, only cracked panes of glass that seem less transparent with each passing day. The custodians didn’t bother to clean them anymore – it was no longer worth the effort of trying to scrape the filth from the spider-webbing lines etched in by stray rocks or textbooks. Her aimlessly ambling eyes stopped to observe a nearby scene, where another girl was eating.
A boy entered the scene briefly, conversing with the girl before moving on to his own lunch gathering. He was new to the school, and girl’s all over Holkem High’s campus seem to swoon whenever they entered a 50-foot radius of his presence. As he turned from the girl’s table, his eyes locked with Autumn’s for a brief moment. She shuddered – she had a feeling that she’d met him before somewhere, and not somewhere pleasant. Yes, things certainly have changed since Monica had left. Since Jess had taken over the scene…
***
Jess smiled as she looked across at her friends at their usual lunch table. She gave her pin-straight, highlighted hair an extra flip as she pulled out her nearly calorie-free lunch. The flirtatious trick worked, and she congratulated herself as James gave her that smile of his – the one he only dished out for only a select few. She winked back. “You comin’ this weekend? My parents are still going to be in Aspen, you know, so it’s only gonna be, like, a few people…a little get-together, you know?” His answer came coupled with a soft chuckle.
“I get your drift, Jess, and I’ll be there.” She flashed him a blinding smile and swung back around in an impossibly graceful move. James walked away to his own lunch table, apparently marveling to himself how anyone could possess the ability to do that in a miniskirt.
“Ooo, Girls, did you see that? Ha ha! James is actually going to come! I can’t wait ‘till tomorrow night.” She giggled to her friends and waited for the praise that they would lavish on her after such a statement. “I’m so nervous though…seriously…what if I screw this whole thing up? I’ll never be able to face him again!” Again a rush of support poured from the group, and, for the moment, her butterflies settled.
***
Autumn glared at Jess from where she sat in her corner. James was all over her. No surprise there, though, that was so like Jess to just throw herself at any half-decent cest-pool of testosterone that shuffles by. Not that any of them were even half-decent anyway…
“It’s not her fault, she can’t help it.” Someone said softly as they walked by. Autumn’s eyes shot upward to identify the voice, but all she saw was their backs crossing to the doorway. Weirdos, she criticized. Who wears all white after labor day? Her shoulders lifted in an unconscious movement as she shrugged off the interruption and refocused on the brunette irritant that sat before her.
***
Jess managed to choke down the few baby carrots in front of her, before declaring she was simply too full to eat another morsel. She glanced towards the wall and when she looked back her friends had placed a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Oh, come on now, I ate your apple already, and now you think I can fit a sandwich in too? You’re nuts!” The girls across from her exchanged a quick look that suggested the phrase “isn’t that ironic?” before returning to the task at hand.
“Just eat it Jess.”
“Yeah, you’re already a size one, it doesn’t get any thinner than that.”
“If I get fat you guys - ”
“Trust us, you’re fine. Just eat.”
***
Autumn shook her head at the foolish girl in front of her, hardly believing what she saw. If she were any skinnier, she’d be transparent. And she doesn’t even see it. And all the guys still think she’s the hottest thing since sliced bread. She shook her head once more, as if to finalize the sentiment, and then bit into her sandwich. Mmm…She couldn’t imagine not wanting to eat a turkey sandwich, they were her absolute favorite.
***
James sighed and took his place at the staff table. “It’s so sad, you know? Autumn has been here for 2 years, and yet she shows no progression. It’s like she still has no idea that she has a problem at all…It makes me feel like all of this is so futile…this whole therapy thing, I mean.” The male nurse addressed his fellow mental health clinicians in a voice that could only be described as defeated.
“Does she still look confused when you don’t call her Autumn?” Another nurse inquired.
“Yeah, she does.” He answered.
“Poor thing, and her parents are always gone, too. At least she thinks they’re in Aspen instead of knowing she’s been abandoned.” The co-workers all nodded sympathetically and glanced back at the girl who was now sitting alone on the corner of a bench. Autumn seemed so small inside her medium sized hoodie. Due to her refusal to eat half of the time, the sweatshirt hung off of her bony shoulders like toilet paper from a the claws of a bare fall tree.
“Believe it or not, she did used to be worse than this.” An older nurse chimed in. “Have you ever heard her mention Monica? That was another one of her personalities…the poor dear..”
The collective sigh of the nursing staff seemed to mimic the sigh of the wind that crept along the building, leaping out unexpectedly from corners and causing the brittle leaves to jerk violently through the air.
***
Another sigh echoed through the lunchroom, one so downhearted that it sent a lonely chill down the emitter’s own spine. “When will this end?” Autumn wondered. “This crazy high school drama is getting too confusing for me.” She rose from her seat and shuffled her way towards the doors to the hallway. As she paused in front of the shiny aluminum trash barrels, the room’s harsh lighting caused her bracelet to glint its reflection onto the side of the receptacle. “Autumn Viner, Holkem Psychiatric Hospital, Room 374.”

Who's There?

2006-10-22T18:06:00.000-05:00

A Clerk At An X-Rated Movie Theater:

I glanced behind me back through the tinted doors. I could still get away from him. He’d been staring at me since I had walked through the doors. His beady black eyes flickered between the door of theater six, and me. From the moment I’d set eyes on him, my female radar had been blaring full force. “Get away! Stop! Turn around!!” He wasn’t exactly the type of guy I’d bring home to my mother, but that wasn’t it. I could tell that he didn’t just work here for the extra cash between semesters at whatever Nerd University he attended; he genuinely enjoyed his employment. No doubt he spent his days concocting all sorts of sick fantasies about every skirt that flitted through those doors. Those doors that were still behind me and still provided a chance of escape.
I can’t believe you lost that bet. Darn Red Sox. They just had to lose that game, didn’t they… I scolded myself for ever participating in a bet with such high stakes. I raised my eyes a few degrees and risked looking up from my coffee cup. My pupils narrowed and their aim shot downward again. Why couldn’t he take his greasy stare somewhere else and leave me alone?! Way to go Karen…look at the fix you’ve gotten yourself into now…Well, you got into it, you’re going to have to finish the situation.
My lungs expanded with a deep, shaky breath and I pushed my chair away from the rickety metal table with a loud screech. Yeah, that’ll definitely divert his attention…real smooth... I annoyed myself with my own sarcasm, and shook my head in self-criticism as I made my way across the lobby. Save for a young couple lost in their own PDA, the sleazy clerk, and myself, it was empty. Two more steps and I would be there. There’s no turning back now… I stopped at the ticket booth and looked up confidently. “One for ‘XXX Seduction', please.”

A Lonely Woman At A Singles Dance:

After a brief perusal of his surroundings, he was disappointed he’d been talked into coming at all. There was Grandma at the bar, with her martini and Eau De Mothball perfume, and there was Marge Simpson’s twin sister (barring the bright blue beehive) smoking a cigarette out the window. And of course there was always Big Bertha dancing with Tiny Tim on the scuffed dance floor. But it would be cruel to interrupt them when Tim was so clearly stricken speechless by her tangoing skills (or was it the lack of oxygen in his brain due to her clutching him like a precious jewel?). Either way, he was perfectly content to settle back with his drink and watch the others shift awkwardly in their seats, waiting for someone else to initiate a conversation. Or so he thought.
That was the moment when his cynical eyes first saw her. In between Granny and a biker whose lack in hygiene education almost excelled his clearly extensive education in horrible flirting tactics, sat a woman so lovely that for a moment, he forgot completely what it was to hurt. All he could focus on was her, and the way her auburn hair fell in gentle waves around her powder-soft face. She looked up after a moment, seeming to sense the penetrating stare that had been focused on her. Her eyes did not have the glitter he’d expected, but rather, though they were as beautiful as she was, reflected the dull emptiness that had filled his soul for the past two years since Diane had passed on. Her face flushed, and her gaze drifted downward. He held his watch for a moment longer, and wasn’t let down – she glanced back up for a moment before turning to order a drink from the bar.
Before he had a chance to stop himself, his feet began to walk themselves over to her. He had to meet her, know her name. He stopped a few feet behind her and reached out to lay his hand on her shoulder. As she turned, their eyes met, and all words escaped him. They remained locked in another world, each other’s worlds, drowning in one another’s eyes until the bartender cut in with a sharp “Uhh…miss?”
“Oh...yes, of course. So sorry,” Her smooth British accent flipped off of her tongue as she reached out and grasped the slender neck of the martini glass.
“I’m Mark,” he said, still awestruck from the beauty that stood before him.
“Cassandra…call me Cassie.”
“Alright, Cassie, would you like to dance?”
“I’d love to.”

A Farmer’s Wife:

A sigh escaped her lips as she felt the sun’s rays creep over the window sill. She rose from her bed obediently, washed up quickly and began frying bacon on the stove. Her husband ambled down the creaky wooden stairs soon after her, and sat silently at the table until he had ingested the first few sips of his strong black coffee.
“Crop should be good this year. A few more sunny days and those shoots’ll start pokin’ their heads out.”
“That’s good, we need to redeem ourselves after last year. That horrible rot…” She shuddered in her plain gingham dress. Memories of last year were not something she wanted to relive.
After breakfast, her husband went out to the fields and she went to the stables to tend to their dairy cows. Her small calloused hands worked quickly with experience, and soon she had several pails of sweet smelling milk. As she turned to carry them back to the house, the breeze assisted a wisp of hair in escaping the practical braid she kept it in. She sighed again and blew the graying strand out of her eyes.
“Another day…another chore,” She murmured, and made her way up the rickety steps and back into the house.

What's In A Name?

2006-10-20T07:25:00.000-05:00

1. A petty white-collar thief who robs his boss over seven years.
- Richard Downing is the type of person who works through his six-year-old daughter’s very first swim meet.
- Richard Downing is the type of person who thinks that the true meaning of the holidays can be wrapped in shiny paper.
- Richard Downing is the type of person who will show off the diamond tennis bracelet he bought his wife to the guys at the office before giving it to her.
- Richard Downing is the type of person whose loafers are never scuffed.
- Richard Downing is the type of person who considers golfing with the head of the company his life dream.

2 . An envious, bitter woman who makes her sister’s life miserable by systematically trying to undercut her pleasure and self-confidence.
- Judith Knife is the type of person who calls her sister in the middle of her honeymoon to alternate between planting seeds of doubt in her ear and scaring her into thinking she left the stove on at home.
- Judith Knife is the type of person who brings her misfit, obnoxious boyfriend to mellow family gatherings.
- Judith Knife is the type of person who jogs for 30 minutes, 3 times a week, but never without makeup.
- Judith Knife is the type of person who would ask her sister if she was gaining weight or if her wedding gown just wasn’t tailored correctly.
- Judith Knife is the type of person who would use her maternity leave to send her sister a virus via email, but label it as “pictures of your new nephew!”

3. A sweet young man too shy to speak to an attractive woman he sees every day at work.
- Brian Turner is the type of person who wears khakis and rugby shirts seven days a week.
- Brian Turner is the type of person who is still afraid someone will yell at him if he skips a class in college, even though he’s been there for two years.
- Brian Turner is the type of person who has a smile that would make any girl swoon, but is completely unaware of that feature.
- Brian Turner is the type of person who apologizes too much.
- Brian Turner is the type of person who isn’t ashamed to say he’s only had two girlfriends.

4. The owner of a fast food restaurant who comes on to his young female employees.
- Damian Pahl is the type of person who thinks that the .5 ounce bottles of cologne were made for a single dose.
- Damian Pahl is the type of person who parents don’t want to be around when their teenage daughters have to work late.
- Damian Pahl is the type of person who likes to whisper in the ears of, and hovers around the shoulders of his employees while they are working the fryer in the back.
- Damian Pahl is the type of person who would brings his wife to work to make fun of his employees, and then flirts with them as soon as she leaves.
- Damian Pahl is the type of person who thinks its sexy to not wash his hair for several weeks.

5. A grandmother who just won the lottery.
- Gloria Wells is the type of person who runs to Baby Gap as soon as she cashes in the winning ticket.
- Gloria Wells is the type of person who refuses to dye her hair, but embraces the natural “blonde” that age has graced her with.
- Gloria Wells is the type of person who has seven bird feeders and three birdbaths visible from her kitchen window so that she can watch her feathered friends while she washes the dishes.
- Gloria Wells is the type of person who volunteers as a greeter every Sunday at church.
- Gloria Wells is the type of person who wouldn’t mind trading in her Mercedes for a minivan if it meant spending more time with her grandchildren.

Super Short Story

2006-10-18T22:46:00.000-05:00

The sky wept for days on end, with no relief from its drizzling wetness. Frustrated with her young sons’ pent-up energy, Bridget O’Reilly sent them out to find stray bits of coal and timber to use for fuel in the fireplace. Cael, the younger, seemed generally put out by the situation, especially since it meant following his older brother around and doing as he was told by yet another elder. Ronan, despite the power shift that always occurred when their parents weren’t around, would rather they had been able to stay inside and continue with their somewhat rambunctious game of marbles. But they trudged out into the rain, and set off for the area of Limerick where they would be more likely to find what they were looking for.
They walked briskly, their silence only interrupted by the odd question from Cael every now and again.
“D’you think we’ll have a ham for Easter this year, Ronan?”
“No, mam says it’ll be pig’s head as usual.”
“Michael Flynn’s family’s havin’ ham.”
“Well, go live them then, and shut yer mouth.”
Cael closed the opening in his dejected face and resumed his silent march. The road, which was in a state of horrible disrepair, coupled with the rain that was borderline torrential at this point made it difficult to distinguish the ooze-filled potholes from the sturdier sections of the road. They continued this way for some distance, turning in and out of allies, poking through newspapers and trash heaps, trying in vain to find some scrap of dry and useful fuel. While he was distracted by the fog rolling over nearby hills that could be seen through the gaps of alleyways, Cael misjudged a step and tumbled into a small ditch near the curb of the road. Ronan’s eyes rolled unsympathetically as he reached down to drag his baby brother back to his feet.
“Mam’s going to skin you alive, Cael. We’ve only had these shirts for a fortnight now, and look at you – covered in filth.” Cael’s chin began to tremble, and Ronan was in no mood to deal with tears. “Let’s just go back home, ok? There’s nothing out here to find.”
With a nod of his head, Cael turned back to follow his brother’s footsteps back the way they came. The fog continued to roll in, foaming off of the gurgling river that served as the northern seam of the city, and enveloping the homes, factories, and churches that composed the stage for the daily scenes of Limerick’s citizens. Ronan looked at his surroundings with older eyes. He knew that those factories didn’t have as many jobs as the people needed to provide for their families. He knew that in a year or two he’d have to start helping out his family by getting a job of some sort, and that soon after, Cael would have to join him.
In spite of his irritation, Ronan felt a deep sense of brotherly responsibility for the well being of Cael, and was not looking forward to the day where he too would have to join the young labor force of their poverty-stricken city. His eyes, mature beyond their years due to seeing paycheck after paycheck fill their father’s beer mug instead of their bellies, roved around the numerous pubs lining the street. Just before they turned the corner to their street, Ronan, lost in a moment of compassion, reached out and put a hand on Cael’s chest to stop him where he was.
“Take off yer shirt, Cael.”
“What? Why?”
“Just do it. Here, take mine,” he instructed.
Cael, bewildered, did as he was told, and swapped shirts with his older brother. Ronan slid his hands into the soggy sleeves and felt a sudden chill shake his dampened body as he pulled the other sleeve on and buttoned up the front. Because Cael was tall for his age, his shirt fit Ronan as if it was his own.
“Let’s go – they’ll be worried about us, ‘tis almost dark.”
They quickly trotted up the cobbled road and scampered through the wooden door of their home. Bridget looked up from the stew on the dimly smoldering fire and waggled the wooden spoon at the muddy rascals in the doorway.
“What’ve you done? Look at you – a mess! A complete mess!”
Ronan shrugged slightly, and simply explained that he had slipped on the road.
“Well see to it you be more careful, or it’ll be you that’s doin’ the laundry next week! Take it off and come sit near the fire while it dries.”
Ronan obeyed, and as he glanced to his side, he briefly met Cael’s thankful stare.
“Someday you’ll understand,” he whispered.
“But…why?”
“Because yer my brother.”

Plot Outline for "The Writer's Daily Times"

2006-10-06T07:20:00.000-05:00

1. Exposition - Steve, a chubby middle-aged man, finds himself larger than he remembers, and decides, once again, to begin bike riding to get into shape.

2. Conflict - Steve can't convince his wife that this time he's really going to get into shape.

3. Complications - Steve pretends to race his friend, wins, and then finds he has real competition up ahead.

4. Climax - Steve pushes himself as hard as he can, but can't quite catch up. Then he competition gets hit by both a bus and a van.

5. Falling Action - Steve witnesses the accident and is very shaken; he turns around and bikes home.

6. Resolution - Steve decides that the bike really isn't for him.

First Line....Last Line

2006-10-06T06:45:00.000-05:00

Just in time to miss her only morning class. I couldnt believe it. I had overslept - again! And you call her your dream girl, I berrated myself. If you really liked her, don't you think you could drag yourself out of bed long enough to introduce yourself and speak with her for five minutes?! My mind flipped back and forth between rationalizing and reprimanding my reasoning for my continual absence in her life. She'll never like me. I'm only a freshman! She's two whole years older than me! An upperclassmen. I shook my head as I turned back to my dorm to get ready for another dateless day. You don't really know that until you try, do you? I broke into a light jog and then into a run, needing something else to focus on for five minutes. My panting and the pounding of my feet on the cracked asphalt couldn't drown out the argument in my head. No matter how fast I ran, the conversation managed to keep my pace.
She's too good for you...
Just try! What have you got to lose?...
Are you crazy? You'll be a laughing stock! A freshman and a junior? Please, let's not kid ourselves...
You aren't just a freshman. You are ... a runner!
Barely..
A good student!
Geek.
A... a....
Just go to class, freshman.
I arrived at my dorm and gathered my books for another mind-numbing hour of Essay Writing 101 and headed off to the northern part of campus. The day passed, uneventful, and eventually I fell into a deep and drawn-out sleep. I awoke to the sound of my alarm clock, but in the fuzz of my dreams, I barely noticed my hand repeatedly hitting the snooze button. When I finally pulled myself from beneath my quilt and prepared for the day, I knew before I set one foot out the door towards the Math-Science building that I had done it once again. I arrived to see a wisp of blonde hair float out of the lecture hall surrounded by a loud gaggle of upperclassmen females. I sighed. Just in time to miss her only morning class.

Opposing Sentences Assignment

2006-10-05T21:11:00.000-05:00

1.Birth / Death
~There is no greater miracle in the world than that of new life.
~The soft chill of the spring breeze shivered across my neck as I turned away from the gravesite.

2. Summer / Winter
~I nestled into the vibrant grass warmed by the sweet summer sun and watched the blue jays dive into the brush.
~My foot pressed the brake as I attempted to maneuver my car through the crystalline roads so set on wreaking havoc on my plans.

3. Happy / Sad
~I couldn't help it - the laughter burst forth like the seeds from a cherry tomato that had been bitten into too quickly.
~The reflected image of myself stared back helplessly as the first tear slid down my cheek.

4. Sane / Insane
~She made her way through the crowd and tossed her coffee cup into the already oevrflowing trash receptacle.
~My walk turns into a full-out sprint and I shove my way past the unbelievably calm crowd; I know the crocodile is right on my heels!

5. Best Day / Worst Day
~I recounted the occurences that day: the winning lottery number, the new car in my driveway, the birth of my granddaughter - could it get any better?
~He gazed at the back of his car driving away from him with his wife behind the wheel, and her boyfriend riding shotgun.

6. Day / Night
~She rose with the sun, and flung open her curtains to welcome the day.
~I felt the velvety softness of the the blanket envelope me in my soft warm cocoon and lull me into the the rejuvinating sleep I desperately needed.

7. Love / Break-Up
~As I wrapped my arms his neck, I knew that this was where I was meant to be.
~My empty heart rattled in my chest, the echoes stabbing me with each reverberation - "What did I do?..."

8. Good / Evil
~Her prayer flowed outward like a ribbon from her heart, to her mouth, to the ears of her God.
~He pulled on the stained denim jacket, and the eye of Satan that adorned the back glared at anyone who dared watch him exit.

9. Past / Future
~ The pageant winner smiled back at my now aged body from the glossy page of the photo album.
~I looked down, and to my shock, could no longer see my toes; this baby better come soon.

10. First / Last
~My feet pounded on the pavement and I broke through the ribbon.
~As I fought for breath I closed in on the end of the race, knowing that no one was behind me.

The Writer's Daily Times

2006-09-28T21:59:00.000-05:00

A Beautiful Day For A Ride

I look in the mirror at the bulge that used to be hard and rippling six-pack abs. No wonder Sharon hasn’t been as interested in me as she used to be. My wife nods in my direction as she leaves the room to start the morning coffee. I pull on the shiny material of the biking shorts, and glance back once more at the mirror. Ugh. That is the last straw. How did I let myself get this far? I remember the good old days of college when I was the star quarterback for one of the best universities in New England. The smell of Foldgers® brings me back to the present reality, and I give my wife a gentle kiss as I reach for the steaming “#1 Dad!” mug.
“So, today’s the big ride,” she questions, a smile running away with the edges of her mouth? There have been so many “big rides” that her skepticism is really no wonder anymore. But today is going to be different. I can just feel it. Something feels uncertain, like something drastic is looming in the very near future.
“Yep, today’s the day,” is my confident reply.
“Good luck, hon! Have a good time, and remember not to over-do it, we have that benefit tomorrow night, and we can’t have you waddling around like a maimed horse in front of the head of the department, now can we?” At the roll of my eyes, she continues, “Steve, remember what happened at the spring conference? When you - ”
“I remember,” I cut her off. I shake my head, clearing it of the embarrassment, and with another quick peck on her cheek, I’m out the door.
The ride isn’t so bad – a quick twelve-miler. I should be home in an hour. I start off at a good pace, and pleased with my surprisingly high cadence, I kick it up a notch, just to see what happens. I am sailing along with the wind streaming through the vents in my helmet and thinning hair. I begin to picture myself racing my buddy, Doug. I surpass his weak mirage within seconds, and then realize that I have true competitors not far ahead of me. They had just pulled out of an intersecting back road, and as they picked up speed I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy as I noticed one’s particularly muscled calves pounding in a strong steady rhythm down the highway. I had easily pulled ahead of my imaginary challenger, and boosted by that confidence, my motivational thoughts morph into a scene from the Tour de France – I am Lance, overcoming adversary, and huge calves, and pulling up close for the win! I can do it! I can! I can! I –
My thoughts are halted as quickly as they had advanced. I press the brakes, and almost forget to kick out of the clips that hold my cleated shoe to the machine beneath me that now seems so unstable and unsafe. There, not 100 yards ahead of me, right where the finish line would have been, the man with the calves lay sprawled an the pavement. My mind did not seem to compute what had just happened – all of it was over so fast. The sounds that must have occurred were muted to my ears. His friends turned, dumbly, with pure shock etched into every one of their features. I watched as the van sped away, and as the truck driver ran over in slow motion. I stared blankly, not comprehending, and turned my bike around. When I had arrived home and gained the ability to recount the experience to my wife, I realized that today had indeed brought drastic events. And today was not the big day. In fact, I doubt very much that that day will ever come.

Photography Lesson

2006-09-28T21:00:00.001-05:00

From the lazy greens of summer

where laughter is tossed about on every breeze

his world falls out of the framed portrait,

the frozen perfection

he had stolen from someone else's life.

His emotions are splayed

on the frosted steel of reality.

The photograph sits there

under a shroud of dust

the once bright colors

now dulled into a monotonous haze.

Mental videos

recorded on standard-8 film

replay the errors he could have evaded.

Even now

in retrospect

everything is not all black or white

but rather is shaded

in varying degrees

of grays

and gloom.

His soundtrack of choice

would have been composed of cellos

and bassoons loud and low.

Morose for effect

but enough to mask the true sounds

the howls of wind

the scatter of leaves

Reflections

2006-09-27T22:42:00.000-05:00

I’ve found that which you longed for so.
Dug down deep, returned it whole.
Broke it free from cold, harsh sleep,
And through my heart those secrets seep.
I long to close this great wide space,
Would that my core won’t lay to waste.

One boy
alone
dwarfed by this world
Yet close to her his soul unfurls.

Patience wanes then perseveres
His hope will stem the flow of tears.

Two Truths & A Lie

2006-09-27T08:57:00.001-05:00

1. Auntie Chelsea:

I practically danced through the halls that day. Skipping and turning, with a little twist here and there to avoid elbowing a freshman in the head. Nothing could bring me down that day - Nothing! Today was the day I was to become an aunt. That date had been penciled in - with a pink colored pencil, of course - like a dentist appointment. "Megan becomes a mom!!!" screamed out at me from November 23rd, 2005. The due date had actually been the 22nd, but I had accidentally entered it on the wrong date. The baby must have known I hate to cross things out in my plan book.

I couldn't hide my excitement. I squirmed in physics, prompting strange looks from my fellow class-goers. I fiddled in history, and I tapped my foot twice as fast in band. "Almost time," I mouthed across the room to my friend. It would only be a few more hours until I would evolve from "Chelsea Dunford: Average Teen" to "*Auntie Chelsea*". Of course, the time limit was merely an approximation. A few hours was just a rough estimate - left up to the discretion of my nearly-here neice. These things are never 100% predictable - the forces of nature hardly ever conform to our human prescriptions for events.

It was nearly seven hours later, twelves whole hours after her birth before I got to the hosptial. Once I'd arrived, I paced back and forth while my parents signed us into the maternity ward.

Room 34, down there, on the right," The night-shift nurse instructed us. Those were the most beautiful words I had heard all day. I forced myself not to run down the hall. At long last we reached her door, and before I turned into it, I could hear the joy in the voices of family and friends already in the room. We entered, and my eyes could barely take it all in. Could I really be this lucky? Apparantly, nature didn't want to follow any rules that day, but leaned more in favor of surprise. As I grinned, I squeaked out the only word I could think of - "Twins!"

2. The Sweetest 16th:

We hadn’t been getting along lately. Every conversation we had ended in recitations of lines such as “Is it still worth it? Is the badgering ever going to stop? Why can’t they just be happy for us?” My boyfriend of nearly four months sounded as hopeless as I felt. My family accepted him – actually, they liked him quite a bit. Why couldn’t my friends accept him, too? Nothing seemed to be working out anymore…
On June 14th, our four month anniversary, we had another one of our famous conversations. I was crying, and he felt like it. 5 days before my birthday – so much for sweet 16. This time things didn’t work out like they usually did, and the relationship ended. I felt awful, even though it was a mutual decision – he sounded so torn apart on the phone afterwards. It hurt so bad to think that I’d not only lost a great boyfriend, but a terrific friend as well.
Needless to say, I spent the next couple of days in a slump, wondering if the right choice had been made, and missing the familiar tones of his voice. One day after a particularly miserable day of finals, and with a cold that was not loosening its grip despite a very sedating dose of so-called “Dayquil”, I dragged my heavy feet off the last step of the bus and crossed the street. My mind was so buried in the fog of finals and antihistamines that I didn’t notice the maroon Taurus (lovingly dubbed “Horus”) parked in my driveway until the driver met me at the front door I was attempting to unlock. “Hi,” I said.
“You ok,” He replied?
“Mhm…sleepy..sick..yep.”
“Well, I won’t stay long, I just wanted to give you your birthday present. Sorry it’s late, I had to wait for the shipment.” He produced a long envelope from his shirt pocket, and handed it to me.
“No way,” I thought. “No freakin’ way!”
I tore into the paper flap, and slid out the two Journey tickets.
Way! Not only was this concert going to be the best day of my life, but I knew that any guy who would give me such an amazing gift even after we broke up wasn’t the kind of guy to run away even when things were rough. Even though we were no longer “a couple”, I knew that our friendship was going to be harder to shake.

3. You Never See It Coming:

I sat in my desk chair, the breath stolen my lungs before I’d even had a chance to say “How are ya?” The shock washed over me again and again, bringing with it each time a renewed sense of dread and hopelessness. You had loved her…You had seen her only last Saturday… how could something like this happen only 24 hours later? I can hear your voice wavering, you who are so strong for me all of the time. As you explain what details you know, I see the lives of my friends and family running looped in my mind.
“She was insulin dependent,” you say. “She wasn’t always careful with her sugar levels, and I guess she was just too tired to check them last night.” I processed that slowly. Too tired to check the level of something, which, if it were wrong, would put you in a coma, or worse? It didn’t make sense to me – she had children! I bent my silent head in prayer as my own tears welled up – I never knew her, but you did, and that’s enough to make it hurt. They say love means that you share everything – joy and pain - with other people. I can’t think of a stronger love than that shared between close friends.

It’s not even that you’re upset, either. It’s more than that. If this could happen so suddenly to someone I don’t know, couldn’t it happen to someone I do? Couldn’t it happen to…you? I sat there thinking about everything; life, death, after death… That song is right – I can only imagine. I just never thought I’d be imagining it today. It’s hard for my brain to even form the words. “Yesterday, Tammy died.”

Star's Dance

2006-09-25T11:31:00.002-05:00

I breathe in the sunrise

Feel its warmth in my veins

My soul dances forth

In a jubilant combination

Of turnings, twists and slinking

While my body lays solemn

in the deep prairie grasses

where it is hidden

invisible to ally and adversary

trust

ripped from the seams of my vocabulary

A stone in the meadow

Frozen with uncertainty

Until it is swathed

with the silk of darkness

and the smooth milk of the moonbeams.

Once protected

with the delicate bars of night

my limbs are unearthed from their terror.

I lean down

Fingertips aware of the cool silver of dew

I am a flowing sheer curtain in a starlit breeze

Sleeping clematis nods at my passing

And I continue my dance

Until once again

The sun reveals my brokenness

My limp and my shame

And I lay down

Patiently waiting to be unearthed

By the soft lunar beckoning.