August 15, 2011 § Leave a comment
The doors are open. Gated, yet open.
No need for a wing wide swing, a six inch squeeze. Tight fit: hips pushing snug against cold steel, stretched, crotch shrunk like crawling under chain link fence as a kid. Dust lifting. Shouts hurrying. This time standing up straight for all to see. Quiet, a silent voice encouraging–Come on! Come On! This time getting in for excitement, fun and a little more, something else.
This time for pride.
August 10, 2011 § Leave a comment
Yeah, he answers still not knowing what she meant. He wasn’t sure if Carmen had told him about following the thread in a dream or if it really had happened. She noticed his thought.
What’s a matter, Salvador? He liked it when she called him Savior more than when she syncopated Salvador like a percussionist. Her sharp syllables always felt accusatory.
You okay? she asks again.
August 2, 2011 § Leave a comment
He opens his eyes. Instantly the night’s thoughts and dreams evaporate. A lifting into the day, hiding from why and unknown fears. Vampires. It’s like a vampire lying in its coffin at the mention of coming daylight, he thinks. Seeing any light erases what happened while under blankets, the scurry of mice tapping on the hardwood floor. I was thinking about Carmen, he remembers.
Within a few hours only impressions of dreams remain. Frames lifting throughout the day. Or emotions. Fear: a lost black wallet–a tight close-up on its scuffed and scratched black leather. Cinematic. His dreams were almost always cinematic.
Carmen didn’t come up all day.