Missing Mom

After her mom died, Mona was forced to sell her house to pay the medical bills from mother's long struggle with lymphoma. How she longed just to walk around that old house--to feel the smooth banister under her hands; to light a fire in the dining room and swear because she can't ge the flew open all the way; smell her mom's pumpkin pie-cake baking in the oven as the drool-worthy aroma wafted through out the house.

Mona dreamed of playing a Billie Holiday record on the Victrola that used to stand in the living room and dancing with Mom. Mona could see herself standing in her graduation gown on the front porch with Eddie by her side as friends and family snapped pictures. Watching the house slide past the passenger window drew tears.

Photo: Xelin

Today's self portrait

Every beautiful thing in my life has happened in proximity to this bridge.

a memory

Cait

Caitlyn says, "I will help you. I will take over then you are weak and no longer able to face with world."

Caitlyn comes out when the vodka drowns the rest of me.

Caitlyn slapped with last asshole I went on a date with. She was right. He deserved it but when she's not around I regret her decision.

Sometimes Caitlyn keeps me up at night. She wants to got out and play and fuck and drink and climb mountains blindfolded.

Caitlyn can see the pain I harbour. She wants to take it away. She wants to take me out, show me a good time, get me laid, but she forgets that each time she does this it tears the hole of regret and hurt open wider.

I love Caitlyn and I hate her. She is my saviour and my enemy.

Blinds

Graceful shafts of light dance through the blinds
landing upon a sullen bed
that has seen no love only torrents of tears.
Corners of bedclothes neatly in,
memories of a faded past tucked away.
Trees shake beyond the windows,
light dancing in a frenzied, broken ritual
bring the only jubilant motion
to the bed.

Across the track

Oona drove past a row of new townhouses that stood where her friend, Paul, used to live. It was in that ramshackle house that she first smoked pot surrounded by all her across-the-track friends. She remembered everything about that small room in the basement: the smelly, brown, plaid couch, the purple tapestry that hung on the wall, and the huge Jim Morrison poster that dangled askew in the corner.

Photo: Link-Inc

Grief

A remembered smile that draws unbelievable pain;

A familiar voice that pierces and drops me to my knees, leaves me with a feeling much like absolute terror;

Grief and fear produce the same physiological response.

Photo: LonelyPierot

Pills

Sleep would not come easily tonight. Sadness and emptiness of heart swirled in Alex's consciousness--a thick, swirled mess and yet an abstract beauty like oil spilled in a parking lot. Over the years, Xanex, Lithium, and Prozac had tried to make amends within her fractured man.

Photo: howdarntragic

Flogging

Kyna's half expected a town crier announcing her return and subsequent public flogging at high noon the next day.

Although Kyna's crimes against this sleepy little town were not grievous in her mind, her crimes might be deemed quite heinous in the court of public opinion.

Photo: semione

Calls to me

There is a bridge in the middle of Iowa. It is on a back country road and hard to find. Yet, it sings to my heart no matter how far away I move.

She calls to me. I just stand there and listen to her moan, rock, and sway while on that bridge. I am peace; however, as I stray from it restlessness sits in.

Photo: islandtime

Ocean

There is something magical about watching a child watch the ocean. An overwhelming sense of wonder and awe both at the size of the ocean and the endlessness of the child's life.

Photo: moonshack

Shattered

I look at my grief and it is so beautifully perfect; an amazing happiness cut down; an astounding smile ruined. I am left holding onto the shards of a broken mirror with which I used to view myself.

I am not shattered--a mass of elegantly destroyed pieces lay in a pile at my feed waiting for a graceful hand to reconfigure them. Can the new mosaic be as beautiful as the original masterpiece?

Alone

Ciara sat in the bathtub watching blood swirl in pink clouds. The shaving nick on her ankle had provided a few moments distraction. The night had left her feeling small and alone.

Photo: niamhnocht

Geese Fly

On this bridge I sit and think of all the times I've come here to think. What had happened then, and what is the now. How far away the past is from here.

Tears fall.

Decisions made, wind rocked the trees, the train whistled.

It is so beautiful here.

The geese fly. The tears fall.

Where have I gone? What have I done? Why does this place call to me on cold lonely nights?

Tree

There is a tree in Colorado and every time Ainsley stands under it she feels it embraced by the tree--wrapping him in its strong branches. It's needles do not scratch they caress. The great pine is simultaneously beautiful and melancholy. I wonder what secrets have been divulged under it's boughs. Ainsley wondered how much the tree could sense her presence. Was it the wind or the tree whispering?

Running Away

Alex rolled over in bed starling the cat which took up residence between her legs.

Mike was awake and staring at her with a warm yet befuddled look.

"What do you want to do?"

"Sleep another hour and then go get some coffee."

"No, with your life."

"I want to change the world," she said rolling over on his chest. The chest hairs tickled her nose a little but she'd be asleep soon enough.

"What do you mean?"

"You weren't this full of questions last night."

"I was drunk."

"So was I. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"I want to know you." Mike flipped her hair off her face. "I'm serious. What can I do to convince you to stay here longer?"

"Nothing."

"Why?"

"There's too much pain here."

"Did I hurt you?"

"No. There's too much pain in Iowa. This whole state contains nothing but bad memories for me. In Wyoming, I'm able to ignore all this shit."

Mike gave Alex a very direct look and nuzzled her neck. "You can't run away forever."

"Watch me."

Frat

"We should start an honorary literary society," Gil shouted into the phone like he'd just reached climax with this realization.

"You want to start a literary fraternity?"

"Yeah! Wouldn't that be awesome?"

"What's next? A triathlon for smokers?"

Ink

Jonas' deepest dreams were written in blue ink whispers scattered across the pages of Brigid's journal.

Photo: xhxixdxdxexnx

Theories

"Your theories do not lead to experience," Ainsley said over the lid of her mocha. She was tired of hearing his explanations and pontifications about life and path to love.

"What do you mean?" Adam asked as he cleaned the expresso machine.

"You are fixated on talking about the possibilities. Too much analysis without love, hate, grief, or any feelings leaves little room for the real thing."

Photo: germancars

Man Cave

Ed entered what he considered to be his 'man cave.' It was a room built for a man: 108 inch television, humidor, and kegerator, and super comfortable recliners. It was a room untouched by women and only intended for men and manly pursuits.

He popped open a Fat Tire 1554, savoured the hoppy aroma of the stout and settled into his usual chair with a Cohiba. Tonight was not a night for smoking but he wanted to sniff with amazing flavour. Nestled in his chair, Ed leafed through his mail: bank statement, the usual junk mail fliers, and two postcards. One from Niagara Falls and the other from the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Piggies

I gingerly pulled my hair into two low pig tails. My sunburned scalp set shockwaves of pain each time I ran the brush through my auburn tresses. The high mountain sun was merciless to my pale skin, searing the flesh like I was roasting on a spit.

“Here,” Jonas pulled his cap off and offered it to me. “You need this more than I do.”

I pulled on the Red Sox hat and straightened my piggies. “How’s that?” I asked.

His green eyes seemed to darkled into emeralds. “I like seeing you in my hat. It’s kinda sexy.”

“Very funny.”

He ruffled his dark hair until it stood up like a rooster comb. I stepped forward and smoothed his hair back down. He cupped my elbow and held in place. Our gaze locked for no more than a moment but I was pleasantly trapped. I knew he wanted to kiss me and I wanted him to kiss me but I turned away.

It was the first time I noticed the freckles on his eye lids. The faintest flecks of rust dusted his alabaster skin.

Photo: i-am-woodsy

White Socks

Kiera sat in the small beauty salon wondering when love would find her or if she’d already found it and cast it aside. The smell of deep coconut conditioners and tanning oil tickled her nose. The salon was filled with old men waiting on their wives. Farmers dressed in their town clothes. The old man with the open sore on his monstrous nose was dressed in gray pants, white socks, and brown shoes.

The white socks reminded Kiera of her latest failed attempt at loving someone—George. No matter what he wore, he was never without those damn white socks. The last dinner party they’d went to he’d looked like a Mormon missionary: black pants, black shoes, black tie, white shirt, and white socks glaring bright from under his cuff. Normally George was well-dressed at least in casual settings.

A thirty-something woman entered the shop with a small blonde boy attached to her hand. Again with the white socks. Kiera began to wonder if it was a mid-west thing. Here in Iowa it seemed quite the fad and George was from Chicago.

Photo:skoticus