The Death of Sand

When I walk along the beach I stare at a perpetually blue sky that does not cry, it only blinds with reflective glory upon the granules beneath my feet.

I dig my toes into the sand in angered desperation and shed tears for the blue above me and the brown below me.

It is a life of contrast with bodies caught in its cruel center hopelessly yearning to blend.

I gouge out a hole in the flesh of the sea that the tide has left behind and hope for lightning.

I dream of an ethereal death for the crystals that silently fill my lungs and consume my soul.

I want to create a glass landscape as frail and muted as the heart that's housed within me.

Boot Straps and The Luck of Lucy

She was a pick yourself up by the boot straps kind of girl, and since the tender age of four - when she had been equipped with the smallest pair Luchesse's her Daddy could find - she'd had a stubborn tenacity intent on trying to fix all that was broken.

Lucy sat on the edge of Andrew's hospital bed and stared at his lifeless form. He was now tethered to her world by tubes and machines when only five days prior he had been dancing her around the freshly waxed floors of the local dance hall celebrating her birthday. Her feet shifted uncomfortably on the hospital floor below, dressed in the new boots he had bought for her as a present with a card that read, "I live and breathe to love you".

And just like that, the beeping ceased, and the power was cut on her present existence as she tucked the card into her pocket - a last attempt to anchor her heart to his.

She felt as helpless as a child, remembering the time she was forced to dismount grandpa Jake's tractor as the broken machine was hauled off to auction, and when once again, Daddy was there to gently guide her over the threshold of that hospital room into a new world - the one of a widow.

Babies and Breakdowns

Captain Recovery rises again to fix what is broken and mend Jill's hormone induced tornado of emotions with dinner and friends. The baby she cannot touch is sleeping while their toddler plays with Halloween finger puppets at her feet. The trees outside are screaming to release their leaves as Fall comes to a close and she knows that Winter is looming... waiting to blanket her lively landscape and match the coldness she feels in her soul. She has surrendered to the glass of wine safely secured by her finger tips as she tingles from it's effects. She has no reservoir of emotions and is unable to feel guilt for the excess she drinks quietly from the bottle she hides in the closet. Their toddler holds up a monster puppet and proudly says "Franken Einstein", laughing she cradles him, now drunk and able to exhale, she finally feels human.

Budweiser

Small town suffocation was her disease of which there was no cure. She was a thumb twiddler, part-time casino card fiddler who was aching to be noticed for a craft she'd not yet obtained. It was an unreasonably hot day and the famed Clydesdales that she was posing with were spewing horse hair in all directions, layering the photo shoot and all its props in a blanket of gold. She cleverly recited the acronym she had been taught while smiling for the camera in the Bud dress so many girls would covet the chance to wear..."Budweiser- because you deserve what every individual should enjoy regularly". She was stuck in America and felt as if she was drowning in the monotony of amber'd waves of grain. Singing hallelujah and the praises of a bottle of horse piss.

Daughters and Debts

I stare at my daughter's tiny sleeping body as the morning light is slowly waltzing through the window across her face. She is beautiful at the tender age of eight with piano fingers that lay cupped below her cherub like cheeks. As she grows, I hope her beauty will not be erased like mine, by the scars blemishes leave behind. She is a loveable and fierce force that is still untamed and at times difficult, but through her father's eyes I see adoration and I have learned to love me.

I wish to make a paper plane that is more beautiful and glides faster on the breeze than the one molded by my mother.

I am overwhelmed at times by the love I feel for my daughter and with a full heart I will her to be more than the mother that bore her.

Hip To Be Square?

Pearls and perfect posture are things I don't possess.
"No apron in the kitchen and heels only for the bedroom" I want to scream out in jest.
When I am in a crowded room and feel all alone, lucidity is like a clever imaginery friend, that hums in my ear..." square peg, round hole, square peg, round hole", signaling my social distress.

For me, fitting in to conform is like a dress that's unworn, and no matter its beauty, it's just not my duty.

And so, I am happy to say, I have founded a misfits paradise named Oblongs Anonymous.
Membership is free, you just can't be... completely square.

Tags: misfit, Silly, squar

Pillow Samba

He's just landed in Perth, while she's stateside, visiting home... they are tethered to one another by pillows and telephones. He has just disembarked another plane, and along with his crew of passenger air transport soldiers, he marches off to his temporary home. He reconnects with his love, now that he is grounded, through signals sent across the night sky. She is once again in his ear, as her laughter brings him ease of mind...and their ritual can begin. He switches to a language that is unrecognizable by his crew, it is French this time, and the telling of her favorite lullaby ensues. She smiles, as her lids say goodbye to day, with the tone of his voice dropping kisses tenderly in her ear, phonetic fairies dance the samba on her pillow as love enters her empty space and the sadness disappears.

Trepidation and Her Sisters

The oldest daughter, Trepidation, often found herself lingering on the landing between two floors — success was on the ground floor, an attainable and well lived-in space, while failure could be found on the floor above, bearing a lack-luster appearance that was unappealing and without grace. Trepidation's curiosity led her often to the attic, a dark place, which was home to forgotten promises and childhood clutter; kept hidden from judgmental eyes for the daughters' sake. In the corner of that neglected room, sat a trunk filled with memories and potential magic, known only to the girls as their hope chest. Their mother, Discerning, would quietly creep up the stairs to add to the chest when she knew her daughters were done playing with life's moments, and once they had been tucked away, the girls would heal from the wounds those moments had left behind. While Trepidation continued to waffle over ascending the stairs, her sisters, Bold and Daring, mocked their baby sister, Complacency, who seemed to be content to gaze from the picture window on failure's second floor. Curious about her stagnant behavior, all the girls joined Complacency at the window and soon became engulfed in nature's offering with a view that was amazing, and on this, all the young women could agree... but the chest would beckon them to open it soon, and the rest may very well be, written history.

Pearl Necklace

He drove away from his picturesque Nantucket dream and smiled with distinct pleasure as he watched the moon dance across her nubile chest. Her arm was draped across his lap, intimately positioned to signal a hunger that he was prepared to quell, like a geared up captain who had navigated rough seas to his advantage and won the regatta.

As a business owner he answered to no one, and played often, well away from the perimeter of his picket fence.

She was nothing like his wife — who was beautiful but with expectations that had grown stale — instead she had a devoid nature that pleased him, as she wore no ring of despair.

He quickly pulled over and stopped on the deserted beach road when she proclaimed geographic perfection for their midnight romp in the surf.

He was careful to lock the glove compartment that contained the recently purchased pearl necklace and earrings before he got out... after all, it would be his 12th anniversary tomorrow and pearls were the perfect modern gift for what he perceived as the perfectly modern relationship.