sae whad?

He says – and with a straight
face, for that is of a modicum
of
importance, here:
"If it’s a fad, why is everyone
doing it?" It is of little
import, really, in the
grand
scope
of things, this little bit
of incredible stupidity. But it
does
strike
a cord, as he might
say. Doesn’t anyone
care, anymore, how
we
speak? He is a personality,
a TV one, so he will,
undoubtedly, be asked to speak,
someday, at some college graduation. We
can only hope
he doesn’t say to those assembled, “You’ve all done
good.” But
he
might.

aimee

The teacher asked her a question, but she had trouble focusing. All she could think about, still, was her father and how he got every night, late, what he became when he drank. Her name is Aimee and she attends the best school in the city, Catholic and college prep. She hasn’t told anyone about her father. How could she? What would people think of her? They couldn’t possibly understand. And what would everyone say to her brother and sister? And her mom? And of what would they accuse her? Complicity? Stupidity? No, she had to figure out a way out of this, herself. It was the only way. “Aimee,” the teacher said, her voice rising a bit, or at least inflecting. “Aimee.” More strident, now. “Yes,” Aimee says. “I’m sorry.” “I think you need to come after school. We need to talk.” Aimee nods, because that’s good. She doesn’t want to go home. And she likes Mrs. Munoz. A lot. She even figures that she might tell Mrs. Munoz about it all. She’s fooling herself, of course. She will go, after school, but she won’t say a thing and she will go home and do her homework and eat dinner and go to bed and wait for the moment, the one she detests, and even that word isn’t strong enough. But, she will be a “good girl,” for all of them. Again.

after

They are done. It is over. And she thinks, to herself: Is that it? Is that all? Why don’t – why can’t; why won’t – I feel more? His scent, at one point almost intoxicating, is now just sweat, old, cold. She doesn’t love him less, but does she love him more? And shouldn’t she? Or shouldn’t it be at least different? Shouldn’t it be something other than what it was before, even if it was just moments? She wants to talk with him, ask him if he ever has those sorts of questions, those sorts of doubts, but he’s already asleep. He works hard. He works long hours. He’s got other things on his mind. But this is important to her. Yet, she doesn’t ask, but she does wonder, to herself, about that, too: why doesn’t she ask him? Is she afraid of the answer? Or afraid that he will act as if, if not say outright, that she’s making way too much of nothing? So, she doesn’t ask, doesn’t speak. She just sidles in closer, hoping that his body will provide some warmth, the needed kind.

sky's king

There’s more clouds
and sky, here,
he thinks, or is it just
that he’s looking
up, more. A person can
get
used to walking
around and
about
with his head down, which
is
a
rather sad way to go through life,
unless
you’re always looking for
spare change,
which he did seem to find with more
regularity
in recent past times than he does
now, he thought, just
a day ago,
when he
rescued a tails-up
penny
from the crosswalk
outside
Wal
Mart. He didn’t
make the connection, then. But he
did pocket the penny, after which
he looked
up into the blue, trusting that the
aproaching
car
would
stop.
On second thought,
he thinks, now,
perhaps the sky
is just
bigger, here.

karma

She found him sitting in a chair in the corner, an odd look on his face. “How long have you been there?” she asked. He said he didn’t know. Maybe five minutes, maybe twenty, maybe an hour. “Are you ok?” she asked. He didn’t answer, right away. “Honey?” Still nothing. “I was ok, then, everything slowed down and went black,” he said, still looking off, away, almost absently. “I’ll call a doctor,” she said. “I think you should,” he answered. His name is Nick. He was an accountant. Hers is Melanie. She is a teacher. Three days later, they would find out that he’d suffered a stroke. He was 36. “Hold me, for a moment,” he said. “I’m scared.” She did. She was scared, too, but tried not to let on. Nick would be dead in four months. He died two days before she found out she was pregnant. That day, the day of the first stroke, she’d been off with her lover, Jay, the mechanic who worked on their cars. She would later think that she’d killed him, Nick, that it had been a punishment for her adultery, and maybe it had been.

MIA

He sat every afternoon on the porch, the dog, Nix, at his side, waiting for his boy to come home. He’d received the notice six weeks ago that Ronnie was MIA in Afghanistan. A few days later, an Army chaplain came by. He didn’t particularly care for him, the priest, seeing as how he, Herm, was Baptist and white and the father was black. But he stayed quiet, mostly, listening to what they all had to say, him, the priest, and the neighbors who stopped by, then and again, early on. For two days after the priest came he didn’t speak to a soul, ‘cept maybe to ol' Nix, when the dog didn’t come in right away at dark. He understood that; Nix was the boy’s dog. Now, it’d become days and days of sitting and waiting. Early on he’d decided he would do it until the first snow, sit there, like this. But it was getting close, now. The winds were strong and brittle, hammering out of the west sometimes, swooping down from the top of Mt. Stone others. And sometimes he thought he would sit there no matter what happened, snow be damned – unless the boy came home, that is. Then he would go inside, sit by the fire and have a beer with him. And he’d finally tell him that he loved him. Then, he’d head upstairs. He’d be able to sleep, again.

go, now

I’m in love with her, he said.
Are you sure? she asked.
He didn’t hesitate. Yes, he answered.
How long have you been seeing her? she asked.
Two months, three. Maybe four.
I knew there was something.
I’m sorry, he said, I never meant to hurt you.
She smiled, sadly. It’s what everyone always says. What matters, the intention? What’s done is done.
I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, he said.
I’m sure you will, she answered, then said, I have only one question.
Yes?
When you were with her, did you ever think of me? Once?
No, he said.
She nodded, almost imperceptibly, then said, I think you should go, now.

if not

She wakes in the middle of the night, feeling alone, even though she is not, but wondering, quietly, how that can be so, that she feels that way? He breathes softly, lying on his side, faced away from her, and she wonders if he suddenly turned toward her would she recognize the face? A silly thought, but she lets it live -- and then grow. If it weren’t him, would it be better, or worse? If not him, who would she want it to be? No one, she decides, quickly, for it’s not him, but her. And she already knew that.

prayer book

She stood in the checkout line, flipping through the book and when it came her turn she had Diego, the checkout kid, scan it so she could find out the price -- $10.99. She said, “I’ll take it,” which served, at least this day, to answer the question: who on God’s green earth buys a book titled “How Prayer Can Help Your Marriage.” No editorial comments at the checkout, of course. It wouldn’t’ve been polite and Diego didn’t seem to care. He was worried about all the homework he still had waiting for him. The guy behind just wanted things to keep moving. He was missing football. The lady two back did wonder a few things, though: 1) why doesn’t she just lose about 45 pounds and 2) God only knows what the chapters are titled. She had a few suggestions for those, of course: A Prayer to Make Him Stop Farting and A Prayer to Make Him Do A Little More Than Nothing Around the House. She was pretty proud of herself. Ok, she felt a little bad about the weight crack. But just a little.

friends

His name is Pelican Pete. His close friends call him Bob. Their names are Jiggy and Spook. The three of them work at the beach, cleaning the restrooms and sorting the trash. At night, or after work, they find an empty sand dune on the south end of the beach, toke up, finish off a sixpack, or two. They are homeless, harmless and just about as rudderless as can be. Two days ago, Spook died. Just lay back, gazing at the stars, closed his eyes and never woke up. Jiggy and Bob buried him; that is, they made whatever arrangements would be made for someone who had little need for anything but a hole six feet deep. Bob did call Spook’s mother, who lived in Toledo. He told her that Spook, whose real name was Kelvin, wanted him to call her and tell her that he loved her. Nothing of the sort, happened, of course, though Spook had a tattoo on his left arm that read “Mother,” so Jiggy figured Bob had some license to stretch the truth. The day after they buried him, Jiggy and Bob were back at work. They missed their friend. Especially at night, though the beer did go a bit farther. Or further. They weren't exactly sure which.

will she

She wonders if she’s even
capable of being loved,
having
thought she loved, but not been
loved in return, which she thought was
part of the deal,
along with being loved the
way she wants to be
loved, which is exactly what everyone wants, of course –
to be loved the way you want to
be loved, with that one crystal addendum:
by
the
one
you want loving you.
So, she cries, sometimes, more, other times,
because
they don’t ever seem to and she
wonders if it’s her, though she knows,
really, that it isn’t, that she just
hasn’t
found
him who will make her
feel
the
way
she wants to feel, and she thinks this,
when it’s quiet and dark and the wind
rustles the leaves on the elm outside her window on
brittle, autumn nights:
will
she
ever?
the little voice inside her says,
yes,
but she doesn’t
believe
it.
always, as well she
shouldn't.

what is

A face, a smile
a toss of the head,
but from afar,
where
everyone’s safely
ensconced,
or at least just
ensconced, for what counts
as
“safe,” is subject
to debate.
Too little is not enough,
too much
is dangerous. Slivers
of moments can set off fragments of hope, which is not
always
a good thing, though some would
say
otherwise.
Years ago, now, he wrote:
"remember what was, not
what
wasn’t," and
he reminds himself of that, often enough
to qualify as mantra.
So, he remembers
what
was, and
stops
there.
Mostly.

i ... bird

If I were a bird, I would want to be a pelican. Strong-winged. High-flier. Acrobatic. Fearless. Over water, where the smooth air currents flow. I would write my autobiography, but keep it short. I’d call it “The Pelican: Brief.” Or maybe I’d be an eagle.

she-cret

“Everyone has a secret,” he said. “There’s something dark about everyone.” “What’s mine?” she asked. He laughed. “That would be too easy,” he said, “especially if I guessed correctly. “ “What if I lied?” she asked. “If someone guesses correctly, it’s impossible to lie.” “You know that for a fact?” she asked. “I do,” he said. “What’s your secret?” she asked. He just smiled.

mortal sin

She hooks up at last call. His name is Phil. That’s all she knows. That’s all she wants to know. They go to her place. She feels safer, there, even though he doesn’t seem the type who would slit her throat, though tomorrow, Rachel, her friend, her best friend, will tell her she was crazy. They do the requisite tango, then dance for real. After, she tells him to go, just like that. He seems confused, for he’s younger. “Can I see you, again,” he asks, and she just says, “No.” She cries when he’s gone, then drinks herself to sleep. When she wakes in the morning, still in her clothes, she remembers few details, only that she sinned, as she meant to. When she leaves for work, the doorman greets her as always: “G’morning, Mrs. G.” She doesn’t hear him, or at least acts as though she didn’t. Or couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

peli-can

outlined
against a blue September sky.
flapflapflapflap
(looking)(looking)(looking)
flapflapflapflap
(scanning)(scanning)(scanning)
flapglideflapflapglideg…l…i…d…e
turn … turn
dive
45
wings out
90
wings v’ed
wings in
twist
splash.
dinner!

the edge

What washes ashore come from
places away – does it know where it
lands?
Ships on the horizon.
Two.
What do they do?

So far from the “heartland.” What, then, is
this? Just the “edge?”
& why so less,
especially given its beauty?

People come here to walk;
some, too, to talk; others to sit and
watch from the edge.
Just
wondering.

Some take off their shoes.
Some wade in all
dressed.
All come to the edge
and
look out.

21 pelicans

21 pelicans low, in a V;
Twenty-one pelicans, quite something to see.
21 pelicans, they soar, wing to wing.
Twenty-one pelicans … wait! Here come 14 more.

a moment

For 98 minutes, Friday night, Progreso, Texas, was the center of the universe. Home of the “Fighting Red Ants,” hard by the wall growing close to the south, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Two teams, moms, dads, friends and Frito pie – what else could matter? What else did? Next week: homecoming. More to come after that. But now, here, in the sultry, tropical night, only this mattered. It wasn’t football. It could’ve been soccer or basketball or the orchestra’s concert. It was the moment, itself. And he wished all of his and theirs he could do over, once more, just to feel this, then. But that time was gone, so he just enjoyed that which was in its place. Best late, than never.

the wall

The wall stands
unfinished,
like an unsure
idea & it seems somehow
odd that it is
close enough to touch. I’m not sure
of what it’s
made – iron, steel, fear, hate
or
common sense. What is
apparent is whom it
touches – everyone, in
some way & not just because it
cuts through
wilderness as well as
backyards, but because
it
cuts
through
who we are
or
whom we profess
to be.

boa-ca cheeka

Driving east on Texas 4
on the road
that turns to
sand & the sound of
tires to the whistle of
wind and the stage whisper
of waves,
with voices singing of
a
promised land,
it all does
feel possible. And as waders
wade in with poles in hand
what is possible
seems an unlikely target or at least one
less known or honored. Is it
enough – peace, serenity and happiness? Do
they know something I don’t –
or
won’t,
or …
can’t?

lockdown

They had practiced the “lockdown” procedure numerous times, always in earnest, or at least as earnest as a drill just before lunch could be. The students didn’t understand its seriousness. And how could they – why would they? They were kids. But as the drill commenced, this day, she wondered how she would react to a real situation. The thought made her anxious, worried, so she rushed it from her head and did what she was supposed to do – usher the students away from the window, toward the back of the room; place the green card, signaling “all’s ok” in the bottom right-hand corner of the window nearest the door. Back herself, too, away from the window. And as she waited for the “all clear,” she did think about those teachers who’d been in those situations and what went through their minds. “Can I go to the restroom?” a voice behind her said, bringing her back to the present. Two years later, at a different school, in a different state, she would, in fact, be at the wrong place at the wrong time and she would become a heralded martyr for the way protected her students from two teenage gunmen. Now, she simply waited for the word to break down, then presented Mariejose with the requisite hall pass. Five minutes later, the bell rang for lunch. She'd brought an egg salad sandwich.

esther's journal

SATURDAY, September 30: Finally, a day off. We don’t get many of them, around here, at least at the start of the year. I slept in and it was yummy. We got nicked by a cold snap, last night – got down to about 39. I trundled myself under a pair of quilts. God, it was lovely. And waking up to the crispness – simply invigorating. If I’ll be missing anything in the next life, if there is one, I’ll miss mornings like this. I brewed some strong coffee, put on a thick sweatshirt and sat on my deck, out back, up, watching the steam rise from the water like it was in a movie. I sat there for a good hour, just feeling the morning. If you’ve never done that, I suggest it: feel a crisp, brittle morning. I guarantee you’ll remember it. That’s all for now, and I don’t think I’ll write any more, today. Today, I’m just going to live it, today.