The cracked teacup nested in the pool
of rain, gold leaves wicked on its side
and across the sodden grass
like so many gloves. This is the vacant lot
with the tumble of shredded cardboard,
the winking cans, bereft weeds.
She walked across, gingerly. Noting
none of the glum details, only the general
sense of abandonment. Was she foolish
for walking here, she wondered,
at the same time telling herself
she could do with some drama, evidence
she had not become invisible, untethered,
a fog girl. She looked ahead at the sour yellow
of the streetlight and then to the brick wall
with holes where windows had once been
and felt the eyes of nothingness flick
across her skin and move on.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 16, Issue 2.
Cider Press Review’s inaugural web issue, CPR Volume 14, Issue 1, is now online. Read new work by Aran Donovan, Mercedes Lawry, Daye Phillippo, Janet Barry, Athena Kildegaard, Luke Whisnant, Tim Suermondt, James Cox, Wendy Drexler, Jin Cordaro, Ronda Broatch, Julia Esacove, Stan Sanvel Rubin, Cory McClellan, René Char, Nancy Naomi Carlson, Wendy Taylor Carlisle, Sharon Olson, Jennifer Finstrom, Sandra Stone, Laura J. Martin, Doug Ramspeck, and Sara Dailey. Read the issue online today; download a Kindle version from Amazon next week.
The wry scientist feels heroics are unnecessary.
She shirks the convoluted equations and heads
for the atomic heart. The orbit of thought sliced
by need, dissected by a frivolous narrative
and neatly stacked by the bed. Hence, dreams
without effort. Little bird feet tick tacking
on a page, the world is a cage, is a series of
clashing explanations like greens, winter,
spring, what grows and dies to a sad, skint twig.
She is no mother of mercy. She is no shrill Cassandra.
Let’s all spin, she thinks, till we fall down,
proving a point in the garbled scheme of the world.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 14, Issue 1.