Seven Glimpses of Patti

maniacal

although she nods, pats my shoulder, and says, “Don’t worry about it, Dear, I know you’ve been busy. I know you have more important concerns on your mind,” I can tell that behind those soft brown, pseudo-sympathetic eyes lurks a maniacal, mindless, slaveringly hideous female beast, already plotting her revenge for me not having noticed her new hair-do.

 

pricked

in the twilight I see her across the grass and the folding chairs and faded blankets talking with some friends, gesticulating, pushing the hair back off her face, and I think how very pretty she is still, and listen intently, like a fox with its ears pricked, for the sounds of her precious voice to reach me in brief, simple, unorganized tones

 

serenade

I always felt I should do something unusual or extreme to win her over, to gain her attention, her look of approval, like serenade her or call out to her from beneath her window like in the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, climb a ladder, snatch her away, her knight in armor shining like the moon

 

first kiss

we’re up in the spotlight booth as the lights go dim in the high school auditorium, she seems so happy, yes, she does seem happy, quietly waiting with her eyes closed tight allowing me to steal my first kiss from her there alone in the night

 

beauty

on the steps outside the old gym, early winds of autumn blowing in from across the playing fields, I have to try and tell her, I must tell her, about her unspeakable softness, her shattering beauty, her shining brown eyes, her sweet, feminine scent, but all I can proclaim is, “I love you,” and clasp her precious hands desperately in mine

 

glimpse

under an empty moon, I walked the three miles from my house to her house, hid in her back yard, down low in the bushes, waiting, hoping, for a mere glimpse of her sweet, pure, white form moving up in her bedroom window

 

incredulity

she’s incredulous as I tell her my terrible dream where she no longer loves me, her eyes staring empty, so empty, into space

 

by Michael Estabrook  

 

 

Fishhook Moon

baited fishhook moon

trolls the thin matter of twilight

 

one eyelid of light

one slit scale on the fin of dawn

 

dangling like a silk chemise,

across the back of the night’s chair

 

little sawyer moon,

little snag-edge librating in river’s bed

 

snares from the current’s umbra                   

a kiss from those luminous lips

 

a falcated honesty

rising in the aureola of day

 

like Eos unable to sleep with him

on her mind

 

by Ann Dernier 

The Unbearable Heat

It’s the usual scene – family, close friends, and distant relatives are packed into a tiny salon. Their black mourning clothes make them indistinguishable from each other. It’s hot.

The tension is extreme. It breaks when the body is carried in. Now comes the theatrics, the crying, the weeping, even fainting. Breath, sighs, sweat, and tears add to the humidity. It’s unbearable. Seated on the sofa, kneading a soaked, wrinkled handkerchief, I can hardly hide my loathing. I want them to go. I wish they would sweat blood rather than salt water.

Gradually the dark figures leave, taking their moans with them. Only a few of his closest friends remain. Attempting to comfort me, they offer me coffee. I shake my head. With disturbed and quizzical looks, they, too, finally depart, leaving me alone, fulfilling my wish which would have shocked them…had they known.

I have long imagined him like this – transparent, bluish. I see the grimace of rictus on his face. It chills me to my bones. His eyes fly open in a bloodshot flash. I feel hot. In a moment, he’ll be inside me, taking my breath away, leaving me to pant.

by Carmen Simón (translated by Toshiya Kamei)  

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