Year 2: Day 148 – What Happens To The Seed

What happens to the seed-
encapsulated, shut-tight world of its own,
and everything is ok and small and safe,
and nobody knows what swims around inside,
what tumults are writhing inside-
what happens when it hits the ground?

What happens to the seed
when it’s time to be and to do-
when gently its fresh green stems slip out,
a slow violence despite what the seed would try
to reign in, to hold dear, what feared death
it would desperately try to prevent-
what happens when the seed
can no longer be?

To be anything of purpose,
the seed must always die,
must endure being slowly ripped apart,
its crumbled shell discarded,
to be nothing once again.

But what happens to the seed
when its soul has poured out
and has stretched its aching sinews
to the sun?

Year 2: Day 147 – Whirlwind

One way
to play the game,
each day
always the same.

No wind
to stir the leaves
of stale contentment
in my tea.

I have needed a whirlwind
for a long, long time.
Things have been placid
for far too long.
It’s a shame, it’s a shame
when you look around
and see no chaos at all.

Someone new
can bring the storm
just once
for life to be reborn.

There are many ways
to play the game,
many ways
to bring the rain.

Year 2: Day 146 – Ice Queen

Objects must be handled very slowly now,
low lights and sounds, no sudden movements.
The Ice Queen is wrapped up in paper towels
trying desperately to keep her shape.

The order of things is stunted now,
a hiatus of reason in effect;
so delicately she gathers her skirts around-
the Ice Queen has begun to melt.

The pools around her feet are growing now,
uncertain to where they’ll drain
but the pressing matter now is that
the Ice Queen has begun to melt.

52 Flashes of Fiction: Week 25 – When Strangers Roll Through Town

Never have I known a stranger to come rolling through town without making a beeline straight for me. It’s because I’d be spectacular if I didn’t let them get away with it, but as such I do just as well. I’m one cracked star short of there, and as such I’m stuck here with the stragglers lining up. We both always know it’s temporary, and we both always say it doesn’t matter. The truth is, it doesn’t.

It’s the simplest way I know to count myself out- to cross myself off the list for a while and not have to worry about any list I’ll ever want to be on. And it’s easier to pour salt than to bear some townie else trying to pour honey.¬†All the best parks I’ve ever been to were closed in the middle of the night. It’s something about jumping fences; I’ve never walked in free and clear and had any fun.

I don’t have a sign but I think that sort of inclination shows itself in subtle ways. The sort of inclination that lies dormant but whispers to anyone listening “I like it this way and I’ll let you get away with it, as long as you leave quickly and don’t come back.” Strangers aren’t looking for china dolls to break, so they find me and we do just as well.

Year 2: Day 145 – Hot Shot

You’re no Sigmund Freud
as much as you’re no Fred Astaire,
I do declare.

Your dancing skills are more like
electric jumping-jacks,
Pinocchio on fire,
car dealership wind noodles,
or Napoleon Dynamite.

Your powers of interpretation
are even worse-
it’s not because of my childhood,
nor have I been abused,
I’m not scared of judgment,
nor afraid to be attracted to you.

It’s not even because of your dance moves,
though that helps.

Year 2: Day 144 – Dance With Me

You wanna dance with her and
you wanna dance with me.
She wants you to dance with her and
I want you to dance with me.

We are all friends here,
with motivations.

She loves me, she gives you the stink eye
so you’ll come dance with me.
I love her, I give you the stink eye
so you won’t dance with me.

You can be the sacrifice
for being what there is.

But when I go to the bathroom,
I know you’re gonna dance with her.
So when she goes to the bathroom,
dance with me.

Year 2: Day 143 – Sea Salt Bath

Before this battle
I’m taking a gorgeous sea salt bath
in farewell
to luxury.

A stranger passed through town this week,
he said there’s a war,
and I’ve known.

Salt tears dilute
and make me one with the sea,
a last baptism to bless
the road.

All the world of ease,
crystallized in memory,
poured, dissolved
to forgive me
for this town.

It’s gonna get messy
from here but
I can’t stay here,
I can’t stay.

The bathwater cold
and dead already and
I can’t stay here,
I can’t stay.