I caught my breath.
It fluttered, drunkenly at first,
then soared out the window
like a happy, little rocket.
I stood there clapping my hands
with the tears I’d held so long at bay
cascading down my jubilant face.
Window Pain
Parents asleep.
He would rap
at her window pane.
She’d let him in –
giggly and ecstatic.
Ah, to be with him!
Moans muffled
by pillows.
Sighs under
the sheets.
Hands exploring-
never resting.
One rainy night,
he slipped and fell
to concrete below.
Her love lay dead –
no more would he
be at her side.
Her window pain
sheds his blood.
Her young love’s
ghost calls out –
Let me in. Let me in.
No one hears him.
The Couch
"I’ll take the couch", he said, slinging his duffle bag across his chest.
"But I bought it! Come on, already, just quit."
"I paid most of the rent. Don’t tell me I can’t. Missy will stay with you for now. Is that ok? You won’t have a cow?"
Missy stared up at Josh with sad round eyes then groaning, she plopped on her side.
Sara shrugged.
"Fine, just go. It’s best if you leave now. We’ll talk tomorrow."
Excusing herself, she went into the bathroom and closed the door. She turned on the faucet, then had a melt down on the floor.
Breaking up sucks. No arguments about that.
Who should have the dog, the sofa and the cat?
What about the TV, microwave, shelf or cookbooks? Should we call our friends or just tag them on Facebook?
In the living room, she noticed Josh’s bag by the couch, but he wasn’t around.
Confused, Sara sank deep into the cushion, feeling it bear hug her tight, like a soft friend might.
As she drifted off, she thought it felt lumpier than usual.
Why did Josh leave his bag? What’s up with the fool?
Deep in sleep, she didn’t hear the couch burp. From within its folds, Josh’s cell rang. She didn’t know this, yet, but he’d never be answering it again.
See the Skies
I’ve been sick for weeks.
Food has become my frenemy,
devouring breads and meats
through my eyes only.
Taking the meals to my lips
has become a futile feat,
for one crumb on my tongue
makes me heave
and run
to the toilet,
with me embracing it
as I regurgitate
like a mama bird.
I can hardly rise from my bed now.
I trace the veins on my hands,
re-creating my life’s map
with intersections,
freeways
and dead ends.
Hallucinations visit me daily.
I sometimes see my father
sitting at a chair,
silent and nodding there.
Alone in my delirium,
I spy a nightingale
at my window sill.
Shoo, I croak,
can’t you see I’m ill?
It flaps its wings
singing and staring still.
My father points at it
“Son of a bitch” he says
and laughs the laugh
I remember,
the laugh
of Friday night pizzas,
family road trips,
Polish jokes
and songs of Sinatra.
The laugh
that crinkles
the wrinkles
in the corners
of his eyes
and shakes the room.
Broke out of your tomb?
No, I was never there,
he insists.
I was here.
Never there.
I pat his hand.
The nightingale sighs.
See the skies?
That’s where we’ll fly.
Fool
She was nervous, he could tell, as they awkwardly stood at her door.
"I had a wonderful time."
The words rolled off her tongue as if she’d said it many times before. Grinning, he took her hand and bent to give it a peck. His nostrils flared slightly as he took in her scent and knew there was no turning back.
"You’re cold! I've been told I make a superb cup of tea" He noted. "Could I be so bold and ask you to invite me?"
She opened her mouth as if to speak but ended up nodding instead. Unlocking the door, she stepped aside, allowing him into her homestead. Once inside, he grabbed her with reflexes quick like a rocket.
She had no time to scream as he took a wooden stake from his pocket, plunging it deep into her chest.
The moonlight from the window illuminated her face, beautiful and doomed. Her long blonde hair turned crimson as blood cascaded from her fatal wound.
"I’m sorry, my dear…" he said tenderly, "…but in peace you will now be."
A tear ran down her cheek and her fangs retreated back into her teeth.
"Fool…" She gravelly whispered, "…I share this home with my sister."
As her life ebbed away, he felt claws dig into his back.
"God help me!" he prayed, crying out in vain as his head was ripped from his neck.
Thomas’ Reflection
“Beware of your reflection. The person in the mirror is not you.”
The fortune-teller seemed shaken as she read his palm. He gave her a $20 and asked her what she meant.
“That will cost you another $10.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so."
He took back his hand as quickly as if he’d burnt it on the stove.
He left feeling cheated and duped. Might as well have seen Mark instead, he thought. Mark, his brother, was a used car salesman who sold him a lemon last year. After reporting him to the authorities, he hadn’t talked to him since. Last he’d heard, his business went belly up and his wife divorced him.
At home, he found his dinner in the oven with a note on the kitchen counter from Anna: “I’ll be home late. I’m at my sister’s bachelorette party. God help me!”
He chortled. Anna’s sister, Tracie, was a hippy who lived off the earth and ate nothing but raw food and marijuana granola.
As he passed the hall mirror, he scrutinized his reflection. “Is that you, Thomas or are you an imposter? Tell me now or I’m gonna kick your glass!”
At that moment, his extremely sensitive car alarm blared. He fumbled for the keys in his pocket and pressed the off button on the remote.
“Ugh. Damn.” He repeatedly pressed the button but to no avail. The alarm continued wailing.
Throwing open the front door, he sprinted to the car and got into the front seat to pop the hood open. He noticed a quick movement in the rear view mirror and peered into it. There was a reflection of a man, seated in the back of the vehicle, who looked identical to Thomas.
Thomas realized too late that it was his twin brother, Mark, and the quick movement he saw in the mirror was Mark’s arm as he raised a knife high above his head.
Pen in Hand
Whispers in my room nudge me from deep sleep,
awakened yet drowsy and not knowing where I am,
I plod down flights of stairs clutching paper and pen.
Noseferatu peeks from around the corner,
straightening his hat; he grins with sharp teeth.
Don’t forget me, please.
Fright, with hair tousled and knees drawn to her chest
is reminding me incessantly,
Write my name, write my name, write my name.
From under the dining room table, Beezlebub grabs my ankle,
I gasp. His grip relaxes. Snickering, he starts to chant,
Remember me. Always and always and always.
At my desk, shadow snakes peer over my shoulders,
squinting at the soft light from my computer monitor,
they hum and hiss for my attention,
How about ussssss? Talk about ussssss. Love ussssss.
My mind is in a whirlwind of creatures, ghosts and make believe.
They beg and plead for their chance to be in poetry or story.
I’ll do my best, I promise them, calmly soothing their fears.
Quiet and solitude is what I need, so would you all just leave?
The monsters, witches and goblins, nodding like children,
vanish into corners, closets, floor boards and cracks.
I’m not quite ready to write. Sighing, I curse under my breath.
Give it back, I mutter, trying to pry my pen from Freddy Krueger’s hand.
On My Side of the Wall
Sometimes
it gets dark
on my side
of the wall.
I find
the light switch
whenever
you call.
Monsters,
bad thoughts
clamber
around
in my bed.
They hide
in my hair,
peer into
my ears
and crawl
in my head.
Ah, when
you call,
they shiver,
they shake,
lose grip
of my head,
they fall
to the floor,
scamper
under
my bed.
Seeing Red
Red was today’s color.
The tinge on her cheeks when he whispered in her ear,
Her manicured nails raking his back,
Lipstick smeared on the pillows,
The marks he left on her neck
when he had squeezed so tightly that red appeared again
in the burst capillaries of her eyes.
And the blood.
Oh, yes, he couldn’t forget the blood.
He felt it growing underneath him where he laid on her sheets.
One of her crimson stilettos planted firmly into the side of his head.
He hadn’t expected her to put up a fight
as he entered her apartment through the sliding glass door.
The others never did; just endlessly pleading and bleating
until he decided it was time for their silence.
She was staring at him now with those red, loathing eyes.
Nauseated at the sight of his blood
and knowing with mounting anger that she would need
to replace her newly purchased mattress.
Impatiently, she glanced at her watch with the shiny cranberry leather band;
waiting for him to die.
The pain was now gone, and his breathing grew shallow.
He felt sad as his eyes drooped shut for the last time; no longer able to stare at her with wanting and regret.
The first things he saw as his soul left his body were red flames that shot up against the black underbelly of a world in which he clearly belonged.
The Dusk
Fingertips on her skin.
Shivering yet warm.
Chilled to the touch
yet his eyes burn.
Frantic beating of hearts.
Lips softly meeting.
Forever is whispered
with no promises spoken.
Feeling his breath,
she arches her back,
freely accepting the plunge
of his fangs.
Pain intermixed with pleasure.
She screams in silence,
relinquishing the dawn
to relish the dusk.
Windswept
After getting off the bus, Marta began to walk the three blocks to her office. A breeze boldly ruffled her long auburn hair. As she turned a corner, it grew more blustery, and the wind tugged at the collar of her dress until two pearlescent buttons came undone.
She muffled a scream as her shoulders were uncovered; the cold air biting her skin. Her clothing felt like a living thing, squirming and fighting against her fingers.
Two blocks from the office, and the mischievous gale continued its assault; grabbing the hem of her dress and violently tugging until it ripped from her hands. Her dress flew up over her head, and she began to scream hysterically. Unable to see where she was going, she stepped into heavy traffic.
Oh, Happy Day!
Blind dates always made B.G. nervous. He stared at himself in the mirror, adjusting the bandages on his head. He noticed one had frayed at the end, and he spun around in search of a pair of scissors.
The doorbell rang, and biting his lip….well, it used to be his lip and was now merely a jagged edge of skin, he tucked the bandage into the hole that once was his ear.
As he made his way towards the door, his nose fell off and landed with a soft plop on the coffee table. He whimpered, holding his nose and trying not to cry. If he cried, his gauze would get wet, bandages would unravel and he would collapse like warm jello all over his newly shampooed rug.
The doorbell rang again. His shoulders sank. Resigned to the fact that he would never find his true love, he sighed hopelessly and opened the door.
She stared at his bandaged hand clutching his squashed nose and the gauze stuffed into the hole on the side of his head.
“Look at you! You’re falling to pieces over this silly date.”
She clucked her tongue.
“Come on, let me help you fix your nose.”
She slithered into his apartment, leaving a slug trail behind her.
He smiled jaggedly.
"Oh, happy day!"
Murderous Moon
You hurled a meteorite into space;
a nightly sadistic sport of yours.
I was in its path.
My wing was sliced.
I heard your vicious laugh.
Spiraling downwards to the earth below,
I screamed your name and fluttered in vain,
for to hit ground, would surely mark my tomb.
From above me, the last cruel image
thrust upon me was a brilliant smile from you,
my shimmery, brutish, murderous moon.
Twenty-Two
She slid onto the bar stool,
knowing full well,
her short skirt inched
a little higher.
She felt his eyes,
her breathing quickened.
The wait wouldn’t be
much longer.
asked her what she drank
and let his gaze wander.
You’re here alone?
He smiled a wolf’s smile.
Not anymore,
she coolly replied,
meeting his eyes.
She was bold
and he could tell,
this evening would hold
a few surprises.
In his car,
he grabbed her hard.
Not so tight, honey,
she whispered calmly.
I’m not going far.
No games tonight.
We’ll do this my way.
We’ll do this right.
His hands were on her throat.
He tightened and squeezed
till she passed out.
He laid her on the back seat.
When she awoke
in his house
she found
her arms and legs
had been bound.
He knelt beside her,
expecting the plea
s,
the tears,
and the empty promises.
What color are your eyes?
was all she spoke
without a trace
of tremor or fear.
Anger coursed through him.
He pressed the knife
to her pretty face.
She was staring,
unconcerned,
unperturbed,
into his eyes,
daring.
Snarling, he tore her blouse
her skirt,
her underpants,
and the rope
that bound her hands.
Her thighs and arms
he could fully see
had self-inflicted scars.
You’re a cutter
no wonder
no knife scares you.
We’ll have to find something else
that will do.
As he rummaged through
his satchel of tools,
she reached into her boot,
grasping.
A sharp pain
he felt at his neck.
He let go of the ax.
Blood rained.
She had struck
his jugular vein.
He fell to the floor.
She pulled out the ice pick
quick,
waiting til he breathed
no more.
She aligned herself
to his death stare eyes.
This is Paradise.
She smiled.
Such a lovely
shade of blue.
She squealed,
I will now have twenty-two!
Blood Tea
I wasn’t born a monster.
We had called off the wedding, so to ease my anxious mind and mend my shattered heart, I visited a place where most women in my shoes would probably have gone --- to a bar.
He walked in, and instantly, his eyes found me. Funny, how a wolf can target its prey so precisely in mere seconds; sizing her up and most importantly, gauging how many drinks she’s had. I don’t recall the conversation very well or how we ended up in a hotel room.
It’s embarrassing to admit this, but if he were in a lineup with five other men, it would be impossible for me to ascertain whether or not I’d recognize him. Dark hair and piercing green eyes…or were they brown? The color wasn’t what drew me to him, but the intensity of his stare did.
I was intoxicated and can’t remember all the details of that night; just snapshots of two people desperately trying to fill a void. Hands and mouths exploring and seeking. No modesty or emotions came to play. It was purely for sexual gratification and make no mistakes about this, I fully enjoyed it. Alone, as I now lied here in this bed, my flesh was satiated and my physical desires fulfilled. My heart, however, was a different matter altogether.