9/11

She stumbled to the kitchen, started the coffee pot and grabbed a stale bagel from the bread box. It was stupid to stay up so late when she had to substitute the next day. Grabbing a cup of coffee she padded to the living room and switched on the TV just as the phone rang. “Mom, are you up?” It took her a minute to recognize her daughter-in-law’s voice. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Turn on the TV. Someone’s bombed the World Trade Center.” The words didn’t make sense. Bombs, buildings, who, why, what next? Hanging up the phone she turned on the television and watched as the two massive buildings disintegrated into dust and rubble and terror.

Graduation Day

It was graduation day. Her graduation day.

The morning ceremonies were over and Saturday stood still for awhile. It was getting hot. Her mother was in the kitchen preparing food for the party later that afternoon. He was putting the finishing touches on the lawn in the back yard, trimming and making sure there was an even 2-inch space between the grass and the surrounding concrete.

Her brothers and sisters had scattered off to friends' homes, and her aunt lie quietly dozing on the sofa. She sat on a chair in a corner of the unused living room; just yesterday she and the other kids had hand-waxed the hardwood floors, their mother following behind with the electric buffer. Sitting still in her new pink wool suit, a gift from her aunt, she felt stifled in the girdle, stockings, and pearl white pumps, but also great relief at never having to go back to high school. She had not been accepted at college yet, and doubted she ever would be.

She had two options: continue to work at the Leed's Shoe store in town and live at home, or move in with her aunt across the Bay and work in her office. Really though, there was no choice; she couldn't stay here. She had graduated from high school and this was the first and perhaps only time to get away from him. It would mean leaving her sisters behind to fend for themselves.

She got up and walked over to the hi-fi cabinet, lifted the lid and put on her favorite Joan Baez album - the one he had forbidden her to play. Things would be different from now on she thought, as she turned up the volume.

Martha
September 10, 2011

PAGLIACCI

Mark reclined on the couch, smoking one cigarette after another, sipping coffee for hours, and gazing at the drawing of Pagliacci on the wall. His senses didn’t take in much else in the room. There was TV and his music, but he never thought to turn those on anymore.

She didn’t know if he even realized that he was staring, for hours, at the drawing. His mind seemed only half there most of the time. The phone would ring and he would pick up, confused as to who he was talking to, and why. He would look at her helplessly and hand her the receiver. He’d already detached from this life, knowing he was on his way out. He didn’t cry about it anymore, or fight it, or complain. He just kept smoking and gazing at Pagliacci.

Later, when he was gone, she kept some of his music, all of his books, and the drawing. It reminded her of the dark and hurting days, but it also gave her a kind of peace and comfort she could not and did not try to explain.

Martha

August 13, 2011

He Gave Her Pearls

he gave her pearls
she wanted saphires
he gave her symphonies
she wanted the opera
he gave her expensive dinners
she wanted picnics in the park
he gave her companionship
she wanted fire
he gave her security
she wanted adventure
they gave each other goodbye

Sandra

Moon

Some nights the moon is so full, its intrusion complete and I pull the drapes, slowly so the dust doesn’t rise and pin them together at the center, like wrapping up a day. Just to block out the unnatural pulsing. I expect in the small glance I allow myself, to see giant moths, batting at the light, singeing wings and great dramatic falls of something so light it’s a toss-up as to whether that dead moth will ever hit earth. Maybe its singed body, in that agonizingly slow decent will heal itself and fly up again to swat at the heat and glow of that moon. Sometimes I envision a murder of crows perfectly backlit, their pointed beaks headed south, their wings with no effort at all, no movement of bird-parts soaring toward a distant mountain. It’s as if looking at scenery moving behind a still-life of birds.

I cannot, on these nights close the curtains quickly enough, my heart pounding the sound track with its erratic thumping, a base drum out of whack until I fear it just may not go on. I stay away from the glow of the moon that slices through the middle section of curtain. A bright stripe like a laser cutting through and the hammer of my heart weakening and I wonder if I’ll have enough life left at the end, as the moon, the absurdly dominant round ball thing of it, sinks beyond the hills.

I’m startled sitting here in the dark, thinking maybe in the morning the moon will rise again and again, wondering if I’m seeing through blindness at something so blond and pale and strong that I mistake it and really after all this I’m looking directly into the sun.

Cooper Gallegos

The Bronx

Sunlight. Headache. Her eyes open slowly
heavy from too much gin.
I’ve never fucked anyone from the Bronx before.
She looks around for something familiar,
sees the head buried in the pillow
remembers Irish music, a long, long cab ride.

He stirs, leaves the bed, returns with a plate
of overcooked eggs and sliced bread.
She asks for toast. No need, bread’s already brown.
Returning to the heap of blankets
he pulls her close and they search again
for the excitement that brought them here.

Where’s the subway, she asks.
Wait, he cries, write your name here on the wall,
to show me mates I’ve had a woman.
She scrawls quickly, turns to leave.
Wait, he cries, tell me what I said
that made you come with me. I want to use it again.

Foiled

Nature has measured up again

Blasting us with water

Grumbling like a naughty child

Rebellious

Sandra S.

space and time

She sits quietly, noticing the rain

the gentle tap-tap

that measures the minutes

that drift into hours

and before it can even begin

the day has ended

and she has not moved forward

not even an inch

but her heart is light as she buries

her soul in the story

of love and loss and survival