Standing on line at the restaurant, suddenly I am next. It makes me feel like Friday after clocking out at work, where everything’s about to happen. And the waiter or waitress will at some point carry over my tray of food, and everything will be situated just so. There will be a rosebud in the vase on my table and I will snap a photo.
There is a certain element of death imbued in writing. All of it is a sort of last gasp. Perhaps why I oftentimes wear black. In a way I cease to exist. In the rare instances when I am noticed, then I have a willingness to vanish. Not altogether, but enuf that you won’t see me. I would like to be a fly on your wall. Maybe not a fly but a lizard, although not poisonous. Just nosy.
How important packaging has become in the Age of Bottled Water. I am a pink flower-powered Fiji female, hopped up on alkaline & properly ionized. Electro-lit! While munching on plu 8594 cranberry & cashew mix, I sip through a volcanic rock filter in an artesian aquifer.
It is Essentia to stay hydrated in the Mojave, & if you notice, @essentiawater has exquisite product design. Carry a bottle & it’s a fashion statement, as well as a declaration of social status & #hydration awareness.
A large sculpture in the library lobby purposely leaned at a slant on a pedestal to give it the effect of falling. It made me think of nodding off.
People sat at tables — some read, some spoke, but it was hard to make out what anyone was saying.
Their indecipherable voices carried up high to the lofty ceiling and dissipated like smoke — maybe from burning incense?
The sounds in the lobby reminded me of churches, with their drafty, cavernous interiors. There, too, voices murmured, only they were prayers. Continue reading “No one likes to memorize math”
Outside it is silvery like a side of fish. Books are spread before me and coffee. Both are oxygen. I sip, trying to stay alive in this muck. My cat has had it (already), asleep at my feet. I’m trying to respond to my environment by writing this poem and then it’s off to work. I’ll have to save these Scarlatti keyboard sonatas, too, for later in the day.
I get up early, around 5:30, regardless of whether it’s a workday, and I’ll do some writing or I’ll do some reading, or else make some visual art. And I’ll have coffee.
I’ll also do some thinking. You know: Hmmm, how did I get into this situation? How do I get out of it?
We are all in situations to one degree or another: a job that makes us miserable; a toxic relationship; etc. My mind is fresh in the morning and more capable of tackling such things. I read better and I write better, too, ’cause I’m sharper and more alert.
But no, I am not one to wake up and bolt out the door in the morning. Anything but.
The salesmen are tall & talk on cellphones
They pace & trade jokes; one is holding forms
The showroom floor, meanwhile, looks slippery
It’s gleaming & white like a smile w/ flawless teeth Continue reading “The Dealership”
My creative nonfiction story The Size of Hummingbirds was posted yesterday at Entropy magazine.
There was an American robin on a bough above us guarding its nest. I had pointed it out to Rob, as well as the male grackle that had been looming higher in the tree for several days, as if setting its sights on raiding the nest.
The story is included in Entropy’s ongoing series The Birds, which features fiction, poetry, creative nonfiction and essays.
I’m laying here propped up on my pillows like a patient in a recovery ward.
I’m slowly making my way thru a tube of cheddar Pringles and watching planes drift upward in the smoggy distance.
They’re taking off from the airport that’s not quite a quarter-mile from where I work mandatory 45-hour weeks. Continue reading “Watching Departures”