Pastiche

She was just a girl when she began to collect those broken shards of glass. She sifted through the sands, squealing with delight each time she found another piece of treasure. Each time she went to the beach -- with parents, friends, boyfriend, alone -- she would search for more. She hid them in the pocket of her jeans, waited til the world had gone to bed before transferring them to the shoebox stashed in the back of her closet. She thought the fairies might play with them at night.

Much later, she made a mosaic. She took those pieces of glass, from years and years ago, and laid each one out. Then she welded them together, the shiny hard quilt of her life, her days on the beach. When she was done, she buried it in the ground. She covered it with dirt, and watered it. Every day she sprinkled sugar-water over the spot where her life's work lay, and every night she watched it.

Yesterday she died. She simply never woke. However, from the spot where she'd buried her treasure, her life, a rainbow sprung up, shooting across the sky and filling it with color.

Grub Street

The Southern girl with a bright smile and genuine eyes takes a look around. She's on Grub Street, a place she's heard of, thought of, feared. Old men and lonely women, girls with butch haircuts and thick black eyeliner, boys with long hair; these are the citizens of Grub Street. They walk idly back and forth, from one stop sign to the other. They seem not to notice her at all.

"Beware," a voice from long ago whispers in her ear. "Don't end up on Grub Street. You're too good for that."

Well, here she is, she thinks. But is this a visit, or a permanent move? She scrounges up her faith. Temporary, she tells herself. This is definitely temporary.

And when she wakes up, she is relieved to know she was never there at all. Nor will she ever be. That nightmare will never come true. She won't let it.

Fructify

Worry breeds worry. He said it to her quietly, as he traced the side of her face with his finger. She nodded. I'm sorry. She sighed. I'll work on it. I already am. He kissed her forehead. Okay.

And she felt better. Not because anything had changed, really. But because nothing had changed. That was what she'd worried about, what she always worried about. And what she was going to stop worrying about.

Soon they would both bear the fruit of her confidence.

But there was one thing she hoped still: that he would feed some of it back to her. Because while confidence can breed confidence all by itself, sometimes it likes the company.

Spindrift

He stands at the end of the wharf and closes his eyes. The spindrift splashes his unshaven face, clinging to the stubble on his cheeks and chin. He inhales deeply, and it's the scent of her that carries into his nostrils. She always did smell of the sea, clean and wet and fresh. He staves off a sob.

"Why?" he shouts, falling to his knees. "Why?" he whispers.

The only response is the soft murmur of the wind, humming a melody he recognizes. Her favorite song. It was the last time he ever heard her voice.

Congeries

There's a happy buzz when two friends dine out together. A buzz of conversation, a buzz of wine. A congeries of the things remembered and the things forgotten, the things we want to say and the things we hide behind our smiles. No malice, if it's done right. Just the best for the ones you care about. And for yourself. You can't forget yourself, because it's no one else's responsibility to remember.

But just so you know, I think about you all the time.

Aperçu

She was reveling in the scalding heat of her shower when she realized there was still so much she didn't know. So much of him hidden under the surface. They say the visible part of an iceberg is only ten percent of its entirety. Well, he wasn't cold, but she was beginning to suspect that she spent most of her time focused on the tip rather than the bulk of him. Maybe she would try to dive. She owed it to them both.

Derelict

"That's a pretty serious charge," the major said, smoke puffing out with every syllable. He carried the cigar in his mouth like a dog with a bone.

"I'm aware," she responded firmly.

He looked up from the paper and directly into her eyes. They were aimed straight ahead, her chin up. Disciplined, defiant, or strong? Probably a combination of the three, he thought. He shook his head. "Are you sure?"

She paused. "Yes, I'm--"

"No," he almost yelled. "You're not sure. You hesitated. Just now, you hesitated. And do you know what that says to me?"

She was still staring forward, not at him, but he felt the ice of her glare all the same. "What?" she asked pointedly.

He stood, pushing himself into her view. She flinched a little in surprise, and he couldn't help the flicker of joy that it gave him. "It means," he said, removing his cigar and setting it on his desk, "that you better think about this some more. Because this is an honorable man you're accusing here. A good man, with a good record. So until you are sure enough to answer me without pause, you're dismissed."

Her eyes focused on his, narrowed. But she didn't say a word. She left, and she closed the door respectfully behind her. He listened to the click of her heels as she walked down the hallway, and when he couldn't hear them anymore, he sat down, put the cigar back in his mouth, and took a deep drag.

Interlocutor

I am the only interlocutor among us. There are not two voices, but one. How can I listen when there is nothing to hear? Or is that why you don't speak: you think I'm not listening. I try, but I feel like this dialogue is on your terms. I cater, I cave. I do my best to please and satisfy, because that is what I always do. But I want to be pleased and satisfied too.

Burgeon

Buds blossom like dainty pink kisses on the cherry tree. Its branches extend outward in an elegant imitation of a dancer; the wind is her partner. Every now and then she cries, golden sap dripping silently from her trunk. But she is strong and sturdy and beautiful, and though she will grow old, she will always be that.

Quodlibet

Everything's been said and done: phantom, sisters, Taiwan, death. Is this what I'm about? What is it that I truly desire? It's an interesting mix, a whimsical combination, I've heard it said. But what's wrong with that? The truth is, I don't fear not being talented enough. I don't fear people being better than me. I fear them succeeding where I don't; I fear preventing myself from success.

"Inspiration is for losers." Tomorrow I will wake up, and I will do it.

There's nowhere warm to hide when your arms aren't around me. I talk a big game when I'm by myself, but the truth is, I'm too in love. There isn't a lot I wouldn't do, and sometimes that comes as a surprise. I remember when you said, "Open the door," and I couldn't believe what I found. Do you know how great a person's heart can swell? Often discover that I am drowning in this, and I don't think I want to swim.

Coruscate

I want something that shines, so bright it guides me through my own self-induced darkness. Is that too much to ask for? Perhaps, perhaps. And maybe that's my fault, my flaw. Maybe that's my own cross to bear. I built it, after all. Seems fitting that I should carry it across my darkened brow. Someday I'll grow up, I think. Someday I won't need so much.

Ramify

It starts with a seed. A small planting in fertile soil. Then it grows. One shoot up, one branch out, ramifying until there's a full-blown lifeform, brown and green and breathing the air. Leaves give shade, flowers blossom in spring. This never was a good time of the year for us. I wonder how much of a metamorphosis we've undergone.

Hypnagogic

I wonder if the truth seeps out more when we're in a hypnagogic state. No consciousness to build our walls for us. No self-protection. All our mechanisms of defense get buried underneath the things we're afraid to think and say. I see lacy bras hanging in your shower, and rumpled sheets, and I wonder if you thought of me while you were moaning her name. I know it isn't real, but I've always been cursed with a good imagination. Sometimes it turns against me.

Deasil

Turn around and take a guess. You never know who's gonna drop the bomb. Wrapped up in a swaddle of cloth, crying and needing. Scary but exciting, like so many things in life. I can't help worrying sometimes. I need comfort, and I need reason. You give so much to me. All I want is to be there for you too, but I'm never quite sure how.

Soi-disant

They say she's the best, but I'm just not so sure. I'm always wary of good reputations. Just like a beguiling smile, the effect can be stronger than the cause. I guess I always look for the grey; no black or white, no terrible or great, no unrealistic extremes. But I listen to the click click clack of the keys beneath my fingers, and I can't help wondering, Where will that leave me? What if everyone were like me, dubious and stubborn? I wouldn't survive. I wouldn't be anyone special. And wouldn't that be a shame.

Career

Shooting forward, fast as a galloping horse, wild and free and out of control. What it holds is unknown, but so many people live for it, or die for fear of it. I've been building it one day at a time, and now I'm sharing it. For a while, for a night; I won't know 'til I get there. Exhilaration, that empty feeling in your stomach, that tickle in my heart. Sensations, predictions, hopes. Really, what more does one need?

Imbue

Three years stained with the hardship of believing no one else understands. But caterpillars still turn into butterflies, and the sunlight glows through their small, beautiful wings. Life imbued with color, dreams infused with hope; these are the things you wish for when you lift your eyes and pick out a star, tracing its path across the sky as you're driving by. You can barely hear the song on the radio, but you know it's about heartbreak. You'll fall asleep tonight humming the tune, and you'll dream of a boy you used to think you knew.

Oblivion

We remember little things as if they are the only drops that fall into our basin. The mean words and the angry looks, the emotional swipes we've taken at one another. We subsist of these dirty waters, drinking in the germs, replacing our blood with their venomous transparency.

I used to sit each night, eyes closed, hands palm-up on my knees, visualizing all the days wrongdoings, forming them into an ugly black ball in front of me, and finally, when it was all out of me, when I had been purged, I would clap my hands into that ball and send it crashing into oblivion. I have rarely felt as calm, as clean.

That's how forgiveness tastes.

Wildcatter

four, five, six, seven. seven colored marbles. they sit in a straight row on the table in front of her. she stares at them, clearing her mind. the choice must come from the heart, after all. she reaches out a hand, selects one, rolls it between the pads of her fingers. "this is it." he looks at her. "are you sure?" she nods. "very well," he says, and he takes it from her. closing his eyes, he places it on his tongue, pulls it into his mouth, and swallows. "i trust you," he says after a moment. "i know," she replies.

Superadjacent

I'm not ready. I'm not as old as I pretend to be. I'm not a lot of things. Maybe I'm not the one. And maybe she is, and maybe that terrifies me. Maybe it's all in my head. As we lie in bed, your breathing slows, and I stare out the blinds, and I know it's probably my fault for being this way. I know you make me happy, and I know I don't. I think I could, if I'd just relax. I'm not as confident as I need to be. I'm not reassured by anyone. I'm not sure where these tears are coming from. And I'm not sure where to go from here.

Bilious

Too fickle, too free. Too uncertain, too me. The things I wish I could change probably aren't the ones I should be thinking of. I'm haunted in the day, by your scent, by my fantasies. We finally got more of what we wanted, and somehow I'm trying to hold it all. I'd apologize if I better understood. I try so hard because I always think I should. What is it in me that drives me to please? I am a dandelion, blowing every which way with the breeze.

Golden handcuffs

Sometimes the first thought is not always the best. Sometimes I need a moment, a chance to get acclimated. Sometimes I just don't know what I want. Isn't it okay to take some time? Isn't it a girl's prerogative to change her mind? As I fell asleep last night, I stared up at the ceiling and asked myself some important questions. Your body shook against mine, succumbing to slumber. When I woke, I'd dreamt, and I'd forgotten, and I'd learned. All this can transpire in mere hours, without the conscience taking part. These are the golden handcuffs that I offer to you. Let us see what you will do.

Aleatory

She doesn't believe in accidents. She's merely a venue, a vessel, someone to speak through. All things are willed, fated, destined. Even when there are choices to be made.

She can accept this in her art, but in her life? In her heart? How, when the pain is so great, the cost so high? Who could expect her to trust in the universe's plan after a tragedy like that? No one. No one can make that demand. Just like no one is there to hold her hand.

Pandect

There are no rules for this. I try my best, and that's really all I can do. She pushes me away, and he says to just keep trying. She'll come around, he assures me. Or she'll cut off your hand, he adds with a laugh. Very funny, I think, and I shoot her a wary look. There are no rules for this, but this isn't how it's supposed to be. She's too hard, too harsh, too rough, too deaf. I'm afraid, not just for myself, but for her. If she doesn't learn to bend a little, she's certainly going to break.

Ululate

Soft air ululating through the hole in her heart. Mama says to keep my mouth shut, but I only want to help. Nothing seems to heal the time she thought she'd spent so wisely, but she must have known deep down that the nights weren't right and the days were never hers. Mama says each person's gotta make their own mistakes, but what Mama doesn't know is that youth isn't the same as it was in her day. Maybe we're all just too jaded for our own good. But Mama kisses my forehead and says, Don't let it get to you. You're gonna be alright.

Misprision

Apprehension about the stigma of your voice. What does it mean when I can't understand? What are the words that fail me in the dark of the night? One touch is all I need to know in my heart all the things that take root in my ear and blossom into my brain. One look can melt my soul. I never knew what it meant to be so powerless until the strength of these emotions crashed into me. Like a wayward leaf on the sea, waves toss me to and fro, and I know not where I go.

Vapor

The girl with hair like midnight wept silently. Tears fell for every happy moment passed. Tears fell as she thought of all the things that would never be. All the plans, all the possibilities, all the hopes. Each future that was robbed from her, she bid goodbye under the watch of the sympathetic moon. Her sorrows collected in the cupped palms of her hands, and when she was done weeping for what never was, she threw her tears into the air. Like vapor, they melted into the sky, returning to the universe to be born again someday.

Demulcent

She closed her eyes and waited for his soothing hands to spread across her skin. Fingertips skimming across her vertebrae. Palms pressing into her muscle, like a sculptor working his clay. Her mind emptied, draining out all the worries and regrets and unspoken thoughts. She hovered above sleep like a dragonfly flirting with a pond. So this is what it's like to fly.

Trumpery

The maze of the mind. Like a cornfield, rows and rows of that straight and perfect crop. But inside of me, a little girl zig-zags as she plays, breaking stalks in a wild, random path. She cannot be slowed, cannot be rushed. She cannot be told to sit still. Her laughter fills the soft blue air, carried on the wings of the wind. Her tears fall into the chocolate-colored earth, sprouting the stories she dreams. There is no trumpery here. It is to this field I must go. I will follow this girl in me.

Ohio

She crawls across the state line, not for fear but apprehension. This is her new life. She's been thinking, these past few months, about friends and family being left behind. Only, maybe they're the ones doing the leaving. But is that really what's important? She's beginning to understand. Beauty and art come in many forms. All elude her, for now. Maybe here, maybe in Ohio. Not tomorrow, but today. Not someday, but forever. Not if, but when.

extremophile

there was a time when i thought that maybe this was the only way. that love was bright and intense, like standing right next to a star. and how glorious would that be? after all, you were in the heavens. but i know now that it isn't true. it isn't right. i am not an extreme person. i cannot swing high and low and be okay. i am meant to walk on the earth, its firm, soft beauty solidly beneath my feet. from here, my view of the stars is far more palatable.

futurity

it's easy to say, i'll fix that tomorrow. tomorrow it'll be ok. tomorrow it won't look as bad. tomorrow she'll understand. tomorrow i can make it better. tomorrow it'll go away. the problem is, tomorrow isn't today. tomorrow will never come. so you'd better think about when you're gonna change.

Marmoset

Wild like a marmoset, you swing happily among the trees. Me, with my notebook and my camera, sometimes I feel like I don't belong here with you. Like I'm pretending to be more exotic, more the creature I think you want me to be. I lift my head up to watch you, so at ease in the branches. Expectations so high. I want to climb, and I will try, but I must confess: I'm afraid that I might fall.

Polish corridor

There's the space between that runs from you to me, that connects and separates. Sometimes the distance is so great that I wonder that we ever found a way to one another. Other times I can barely breathe for being so close to you. Your scent in my nose, your taste in my mouth, your thoughts in my mind, your love in my heart. I don't know where we'll go from here, but I hope, perhaps naively, that we'll never lose that passageway, we'll never completely break down. That might be too much to bear.