Exit

I felt it

the galaxy moved and I

was seen

an echo lost in

the static

I am cold here

but leave me this sadness

it is the truest dream I’ve

ever known

Backwards

 

I am the servant of time

of a truth I cannot

form

made of wisps and

dirt and stolen pieces of

lung

I tried to breathe around it

that was always my way

until the gasping became a

forbidden scarring in the

mind

do not talk of journeys

of hope without destination

decades mean nothing to me

I am still there

counting the tick tocks of

passing

serving a master who knows

I will never be free

Safe

My head hurts.

Hmmmn, says George.

 

Yes, I answer.

 

Sorry, but I can’t help you there, he tells me.

Have you seen the statue?

 

What statue?

 

The statue, he says impatiently. In the

middle of the courtyard.

 

I don’t go in the courtyard.

 

I suppose not. You don’t

really go anywhere.

 

Neither do you.

 

I’ve got the dolls with knives to

worry about, he reminds me. What’s

your excuse?

 

It’s not just the dolls, I answer. 

Everything has knives.

Buried

 

I saw her, once

while everyone was sleeping

the indifference about

made her feel safe

“Show, don’t tell,” I said

and laughed at the irony

she wasn’t amused

after a lifetime of keeping

the pictures in my head

from the words in my

mouth

so in silence we stood

the victim and her warden

the baton in my hand

and a girl

imprisoned by 

doubt

Beginning

They found it, separately. Sometimes one at a time, sometimes in small groups, but not together at once. They had shied away from each other, accepted without argument that certain hallways remain locked to them. What did they want to see each other for, anyway? They didn’t. They didn’t, and they wouldn’t.
 
And yet something had brought them all here. 
 
They lurked, uncertain, in the shadowy corners of the hall that surrounded an interior courtyard. No one spoke. No one moved.
 
At last a teenage boy appeared. 
 
He let himself into the inner courtyard. He spread a white sheet out onto the concrete ground. On it, with meticulous care, he set red plastic drinking straws—one after another, never stopping, never hesitating. He paid no attention to the faces peering at him through the windows.

Soon the straws began to form an intricate pattern. Those hiding in the brick building did not want to look at it. When they did, they pretended not to understand. Was it a formula? they asked. The kind you needed to be a math genius to understand, perhaps? They were not math geniuses, so they would never understand it. 

Satisfied, they slid away from the windows. All except for the one little girl who someone had forgotten was there. 
 
A group of pirate boys living in the courtyard’s largest tree also watched from high in the branches. They knew what the red straws on the white sheet meant. They knew it was a key. A key to a map that would lead everyone in the building to the one place no one wanted to go. 
 
No one, that is, but them.

Make Believe

How we hope

craft facts out of

fiction

these little triumphs of

rationalization

only to sing the same 

 old cowboy song

try again, my love

stop looking for wisdom

once again you are

nature’s victim

take a deep breath

carry on

nothing more to see here

you were wrong

Desolate

Most remained here with me

I gave some to the wind                       

the wind that separated my toes

but something stayed    

crept     

poked 

inside

whispered

never mind the  

frost outside

inside is just as 

cold