Suspended above the Earth

Darcy leaned her head against the cold window, wishing she could fly back to Colorado and crawl back into bed with Albert. Happiness was a good man to come home to even if he was a dog.

Her boarding call sounded. Darcy walked to the gate, handed the gate attendant her boarding pass and ID. She smiled and said that Darcy was the last to board.

After takeoff, I couldn’t read any longer. I stared out the tiny window, watching the Great Lakes recede. I was always sad while in flight. Those hours spent suspended above the earth are the worst and loneliest hours: waiting to leave one place to arrive in another. Some small slice of misery served on a platter of transportation.

Graffiti

Trains rumbled through the pre-dawn light. The rail cars marked by the graffiti of distant cities. The gang tags were unreadable to an untrained eye yet Brigid admired the colors and lines. A set of railroad tracks paralleled Highway six across Iowa. Brigid passed small towns sustained by the fruits of the land: corn, hogs, cattle. Old men in feed/seed hats that sit around small cafes discussing Co-op politics. She wondered what would happen to these communities and farms when the greatest generation left this life. Global economics, boardrooms, and the corporate lifestyle were more seductive to newer generations rather than the prospect of throwing on a pair of overalls and fixing the John Deere. Brigid figured living on a farm must be a study in patience and faith: wait to plant, pray for rain, pray for sun, wait to harvest, wait for spring. Brigid had the patience to out weather granite and strength to move a mountain, yet farming seemed so tedious.

The sun had put on work clothes and was headed for a day tending to the Iowa crops. The eastern horizon blazed pink and orange was the work day began. Brigid could feel the sun's approach in her veins like a tidal pull calling the ocean up the beach. As the tide rose, her foot grew heavier on the gas pedal urging the BMW over 100 mph. She'd wanted to be home before daylight's liquid fingers stroked the earth.

Cinnaberry

Two a.m. and the small mountain valley had tucked itself in for the night. The sky, which was never one color, peered down upon the frozen night. One lone and crazed elk wandered the streets in search of love and food as all mammals tend to do.

Margot stealthily entered the mansion by way of a missing windowpane at the back of the house. She was not yet accustomed to the horrendous odor the house emitted. The source of the pungency had not been determined; however, Margot had planned to arm herself with some bleach and water this weekend to rid at least the servant’s quarters of the vomitous smell. In the meantime, dozens of cinnaberry car air fresheners would have to do the trick.

Margot undressed in the dark and looming silence of the hulking house and slid into the sleeping bag. Her eyes immediately shut out the world searching for a much lighter existence. Sleep would come easily tonight. The day had been filled with theory classes, meetings with advisors, and hours spend hammering on a keyboard perfecting the last assignments of the semester. The night was filled with coffee and conversations with Connor.

Amends

Brian and Lexi lay tangled in a heap in the back of the Outback. A small quilt was all that separated their naked bodies from the cold night air. She lay facing him with her eyes closed and a small smile tickling the corners of her chapped lips. Brian held Lexi’s hand to his chest and pounding heart. “I’ve had an incredible night.”

Lexi looked around the small car, and realized that he could only be speaking to her. She fixed him a sideways smile. “So have I.”

“Why didn’t we meet earlier? Why did we have to meet now?” he inquired.

“Because the time wasn’t right.”

“And it is now?”

“I think so.”

“So do I,” he said leaning in and kissing her neck.

“Why me? Why are you attracted to me?”

“Why not you? Is there something wrong with you that I should know about?”

“Nevermind,” she whispered holding back the tears that threatened to betray her. Brian’s shoulders gave a little shiver signaling the sexual adrenalin rush had worn off.

“Why don’t we get dressed?” Lexi asked

“No, I just want to stay like this for awhile. When am I going to see you again?”

“I fly out on Sunday at 5. I can see you tomorrow night for a couple of hours but I have to pack.”

“I look forward to it.” He closed his eyes and pulled her in close. There is an electrochemical reaction when two naked bodies collide: an electric kiss.

This is the last time I will ever feel this, Lexi thought. After her flight back to the mountains of Colorado she made plans to end her life. Seven years of self doubt and loathing were too much to bear anymore. She had sought solace in church, street drugs, and the beds of many men; furthermore, Prozac, Xanex, and lithium could no longer make amends.

Art: R0ssi

Joy

"The thing I've learned from you is to find the beauty in every moment," Cormac said as Darcy shifted in the bed. "No matter the struggle you find the joy."

Darcy was scared of men who thought they had insights into her. Cormac had said that she'd always been honest and tonight her fear was sincere. She didn't like it when people knew too much about her past. But this time he was right.

Darcy and Cormac had been spooned tight most of the night laughing at the ghosts of their past relationship. Now the conversation had focused on Darcy. Cormac had focused on one of her strengths, an asset she'd worked years to perfect. Life had handed her many tragedies and she learned to smile through the tears. Darcy hugged him, wrapping her body around him feeling vulnerable and beautiful and invincible all at once.

They talked on through the night about things that were inconsequential to lovers seeking a night of refuge: friends in common, laughs remembered, times shared.

Darcy was slipping into slumber and looking forward to waking up to a warm body; however, Cormac disappeared into the small hours. "I promise I'll spend the night again," he whispered with a breathy kiss.

Darcy preferred to have him stay the night. Waking up next to someone made her feel like less of a whore, made her forget the passion of the night before. Waking up alone with strange tastes in her mouth and smells in her bed reminded her it was only one night.

Vigor

"Nervous?" Darcy asked aloud, her voice echoed in the empty apartment. Her hands shook, her stomach tied into knots that would make any Kelt proud, her heart leapt under her mother-in-law's first communion cross.

Although she made professional decisions every day, she was making an active decision about her personal life and was terrified. She couldn't remember a time when she'd been so consumed with nerves - not jumping off a bridge in Idaho with a rubberband strapped to her midsection, not her wedding day. The closest thing she could compare it to was her birthday eleven years ago when she was sitting in a doctor's office awaiting a diagnosis that would change her life.

Tonight, she was taking charge. She'd made up her mind and was pursuing it with a vigor she usually reserved for intellectual pursuits. Books, theories, and ideas could not fail her or disappoint.

However, if she couldn't have what she wanted this night she wouldn't consider it again. It was a one time opportunity. She didn't have the energy to be this nervous beyond a few hours.

Darcy showered, smoked a Russian cigarette, downed some Alka-Seltzer and brushed her teeth. Now, there was only time to wait.

Prologue

Setting: Empty stage with full lights

At Rise: SHILOH enters with blackboard. Written on the black board is, “We can do no great things only small things with great love, Mother Theresa.” SHILOH positions the blackboard center stage, steps back and studies the board.

SHILOH
Blasphemy.

(SHILOH erases board and exits.)

Sunset

I met him in a crowded restaurant. He walked right up to me and asked me if I’d seen the sunset the night before. I said no. He said he wished he could have shared it with me and that his name was Wilson. He kissed my cheek, handed me a slip of paper and seemingly walked out of my life.

I stared at the note all the while eating my grilled McChicken sandwich. On the piece of paper was written:

In your eyes I see a love of life
I can imagine you’ve faced much strife
Into my mind you twirled
You danced into my world
I want a place in your vision
Outside all of this derision
Away from this fast food
Call me if in the mood

Gambler

Searching for a winning lover in this deck of cards,
And constantly having to fold.
Just a toss of the dice you say.
I’m ready to toss the dice out.
I’m no longer in Lady Luck’s graces.
She gave me a taste of a winning streak.
But the house always wins.
Now, I’m poor, broken and jonesing for a game.
Most can see that this old gambler needs to lay down her cards.
Yet I wait for the right hand to go all in.
The final hand to be a winner…forever.
Maybe the next hand…
Maybe the next hand…

Descent

“I forgot to put on underwear this morning,” I muttered.

“You what?” Leah responded.

And this is how it started: my slow descent into depression. Isn’t funny how we can narrow it down into one sentence. I stopped answering the phone. The only time I would bathe would be when I could smell my feet even though they were tucked deep in my covers in the midnight hours. I neither left my apartment nor had the desire to.

I would cook my favorite dinner then refuse to eat it, no longer hungry for curry or garlic shrimp or naked pasta. I would spend days organizing my CD collection or alphabetizing my canned goods.

Whore

Languidly mounted upon human criticism she sits,
chaos and order dancing, she screams locked in madness.
Masquerades of naked dramas fill her nights,
by day she plays with the stars.
Spitting sputtering spewing she breaks her promises.
She curls up around your loins leaving you screaming: more!

Destiny has not been a lover nor a friend.
She has beaten me until I have cursed her name:
sorrowful screams in the dead of the night.
I have bared myself raw and naked under her heavy lipstick.
You love me, rob me and leave me.
Fortune is not to be known by any virgin.

Destiny has cast me out of her graces.
She has thrown me out of her bed without a blanket.
The bitch has ripped my dying lover from my arms.
Fate has eluded me down back alleys.
Faith has damned me for my place in her arms.
Fate you are a wretched whore.

Open Water

I fear
his forgotten laugh.
Sand and pebbles
retreating to the ocean.
A sand castle of memory
crumbled,
scattered
out to sea.

I fear
weeping.
Consumed by salt,
undulating body
washed by waves of sobs

I fear
grief.
It tears and bites
like jagged rocks,
sucks me
down with undertow.
Shocked and numb –
jellyfish sting.

I fear
love.
Standing ashore,
I watch
boats drift.
Scared of open
water,
I refuse
my ride.

New Orleans' Dawn

Sounds of sax, trumpet and snare lure me away
from the shotgun shacks of childhood years.
Horns wail like a concave scream.

Parched mouth yearns for smoky night clubs.
Loins lust for men of gin and vodka and lies.

The small morning hours fade
in a whiskey-ruined whisper
Lady Day welcomes me into the waking world.

If I Profane

What light through yonder…

I want you to glow,
to shine, to luster
not for me, but for passion -
lust for the aspiration of lusting.

O’ daughter of Capulet,

I want no devotion,
no rapture, no dedication.
No lover’s ecstasy,
only an appetite to please.

Speak again, bright angel!

I want virginity,
innocence – chaste and sour.
Physically undeflowered,
burning for celibacy.

Be my rose.

I want your saintly
kiss to my pilgrim’s hand
Lips taunt and tongue shy -
do not kiss, but palm to palm.

Fighting Pillows

Pillows tossed, covers turned.
Books scattered across the blue clad mattress.
Quilted Irish Chain crisscrosses her pale naked frame.
Scars slash flesh in white spots and stripe

Nestled, she slumbers upon a field of hallucinations.
Snatches of reality twirl with violent visions.
The past revisited – mystified by a dreamy veil.

King-sized and meant for multiples, yet she wakes alone.
Stroking the solitude next to her,
Floundering, she finds a beckoning sketchbook.
Words rip the page recapturing forgotten memories.

Fair Maureen

“Married my father,
I should turn into my mother.
Right?”

No affirmation offered.

“Alcoholism is the fate of Irish Catholic
women with abusive husbands
and they’re all abusive.”

Take her snifter.

“Mom, started with cooking sherry,
then cough syrup,
then Jamison’s by the bottle.
I’ll show her.”

Drowned in Hennessy.

“Fuck confession,
I’ve got a toilet.”

Awaiting

Boards jump as she ventures across the rustic structure.
Rough-hewn timber trusses creak and moan
settling into deep pilings. A train rumbles
in the distance, a whistle blowing across wasted farmland.
Silver frost drapes the cottonwoods, winter’s embrace.
To the west, the sky is alight – flames of pink, purple
blossom. To the east, a flock of night’s ravens
swoop and dive nearing her, drawing
darkening pewter sky.
A hawk screams in the night. A soul in pain,
prey falling victim to talons.
Water glides on to the mighty, muddy Mississippi.
A sullen girl awaits love’s return.

Twilight had just fallen on the South Park valley. The clouds were gradually shedding their pink colour. The ride back to school was always the worst, leaving Doug behind with only homework to look forward to.

The nearly full moon at zenith, the world was lit with an eerie light. Nancy’s face illuminated by the dashboard. Kim sniffled and struggled to breathe through a raging sinus infection. Myself, watching the ends of another colourful Colorado sunset. I noticed a couple of buffalo walking close to the road and missed Killian. He would have loved this drive through the twilight, the buffalo, and the countless tomorrows in the future. Yet he was robbed of his promised tomorrows.

Photo: tigerofjesus

Regret

Scarlet began to wander around her life in a daze. No physical pain or catastrophic event could distract her from the hell that played over and over in her mind. Although she hated the word, regret was now part of her mental vocabulary. Too many midnight scandals found at the bottom of a tequila bottle. Too many mornings spent searching a strange bedroom for her underwear. Too many times she’d prayed that the stranger in the bed would not wake to ask her questions or even her name. Too many hot showers spent trying to scrub the sins of the night away.

In the past, Scarlet claimed not to believe in Catholic guilt; but here it was. Contrition was no longer the right word for the scar she wore at the pit of her stomach. Sunday mornings, before entering the narthex, she paused and drew a deep breath to muster the courage to enter God’s house a whore. Scarlet cried through the Our Father: lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Could she really with any conscious take communion? Scarlet carried her rosary with her at all times now. Somehow by holding those beads she hoped to be absolved of her transgressions. But could praying to a virgin really be that helpful?

Scarlet had broken the one promise that she had made Declan. She had participated in the same indulgence that had killed him: unprotected flesh. Above all else, this is what was killing her. That one moment of drunken idiocy, was the parasite that gnawed at her already tattered heart. How could she recover after breaking such a promise?

The half winter’s moon peered down from his lofty perch amongst the stars. At 2am the sad moon was nearing the horizon thereby casting it in an eerie red color. The frigid Iowa air formed a sound insulating layer over the gravel road. Nearby, an owl scoped her nightly feast. Here at the edge of town only possibilities could be seen without the negative forces of Newton blinding any glimmer of hope.

Brian and Lexi lay tangled in a heap in the back of the Outback. A small quilt was all that separated their naked bodies from the cold night air. She lay facing him with her eyes closed and a small smile tickling the corners of her chapped lips. Brian held Lexi’s hand to his chest and pounding heart. “I’ve had an incredible night.”

Lexi looked around the small car, and realized that he could only be speaking to her. She fixed him a sideways smile. “So have I.”

“Why didn’t we meet earlier? Why did we have to meet now?” he inquired.

Photo: Boo756

Rambling

Waking Aislin form a hard sleep, Nora crawled in bed and nestled into her daughter’s arms. The roles were reversed; Mother was scared; child wore a brave face and offered comfort.

Nora’s agoraphobia had started slow with a bit of anxiety while grocery shopping. It was magnified by Nora’s position as an in-take nurse in the local emergency room. She’d seen the pain humans inflicted upon each other. The symptoms became crippling before Aislin left for Colorado. Nora refused to be vulnerable and refused to leave the house. She still worked graveyard at the hospital; however, that was the extent of her excursions outside the house.

Aislin snuggled into Nora as a child holds a doll. “Are you coming to my show?”

“I’ve been showing your work since you were four,” she said. Although Aislin couldn’t see her mother’s face, she knew that Nora was smiling as her words turned up like the corners of her mouth. “The refrigerator was never big enough for you.”

This was all Aislin needed to hear. Her mother would stay home, rambling around the small house, talking to Albert, and ignoring all else. The weight of the rest of the world seemed to be pressing down on the house trying to find a crack or open window.

Lucky Charms

Lack of sleep, an odd bed, anticipation, and hunger all conspired against me. Sleep would not come tonight.

I rose from the bed, pulled on the flannel pants, rolled the bottoms up as not to trip on the stairs, and wandered down to the kitchen. The house took on a whole new character with only the moonlight creeping through the windows to illuminate the space.

The kitchen was spotless, not even a water spot in the stainless steel sink. Each of the canisters that sat out on the counter was perfectly spaced from each other. Even the contents of the fridge were perfectly aligned with each other. The apples were sorted by type.

I started opening cabinets in search of some snack food. Chips, cookies, or candy would have worked wonders to calm my nerves. I had just tucked into some tortilla chips when the door swung open, startling me. Jon entered wearing only flannel pants identical to the one I had on. He didn’t look remotely sleepy and his pants were not wrinkled.

“Hello,” I said through a mouthful of chips.

“What are you doing up?”

“Hungry.”

“Me, too,” he said pouring a bowl of Lucky Charms. He sat on the counter next to me eating only the marshmallow pieces.

Night Terrors

Aislyn woke in the night with tears streaming down her cheeks. Yet another nightmare of sexual transgressions left her crying in the night. Instead to recalling horrible images of the past, her subconscious was creating new terrors. The first dream was the maintenance man in her condo and Riley had been the knight riding in on his white jag to save her. Tonight's dream was a female security guard at the mall where she was buying nail polish.

Aislyn curled under the down comforter, but couldn't get warm. She touched the sheets where Riley had been the day before. She'd been crying for him in her dream, wanting to be comforted by his tender presence. Now she was overcome by fear of what the dreams portented; what demons had been set loose in her fragile psyche.

Photo: crvena69

Bakhtin

Outside, the sky was alight with the fire of night’s advance; blue, pink and yellow mingled in ways only seen on truckstop postcards. Inside, Peri perched herself in front of the television, behind a stack of ungraded papers, beside a bottle of chardonnay, and under a log cabin quilt. The high mountain summer night wasn’t cold enough to warrant the quilt but it was a happy remnant of the past.

She hated being to be the professor to assign papers discussing the ramifications of Mikhail Bakhtin on modern writers because she was the professor that had to read and evaluate each paper; however, it paid the bills no matter how contrived the essays were. At least it wasn’t Calvino.

The phone pulled Peri from her loathing. “Hello?”

“We’re coming over,” Bridget said. “I have someone I want you to meet.”

“Who’s we?” Peri asked jumping from the sofa looking down at her boxers and Surf Colorado tee.

“A few of us from the department. Got any wine?”

“Of course.”

“Good. We’ll be there in a few.”

“Damn it!” Peri said hanging up the phone. She ran up the stairs tripping on the top step. She tore through her drawers throwing on a pair of dress pants and a black tee – simple, understated but semi-professional. Her new colleagues were used to seeing her in a business suit among the academic halls full of jeans and oversized sweatshirts.