Pieces

I cried for you and my tears ran gold and wet
down my cheeks, freezing my heart.
I held it for you, cupped it
in my hands and watched the blood spill, mixed with saline.
What I've given can not be returned,
what I've lost to you is yours.
The pieces of me that I allowed you to strip away
with your eyes and your smile.
They are yours and always have been.
And always will be.
You said your goodbyes; I'm still saying mine.
Even from here, I am still
losing pieces to you.

Cap'n Petey's Last Adventure

A distinctive thump made Maggie’s foot go down hard on the brakes. The car complained, squealing and swerving a little before coming to a stop. She had seen a flash of something out of the corner of her eye, but wasn’t sure what she had hit. She sat gripping the steering wheel, letting her heart settle before opening the door.

The black and white lump of fluff was still flopping a little on the pavement. It settled down to a subtle twitch before Maggie reached it. She knelt down beside the lump and examined it as well as she could without touching it.
Oh God, no, it couldn’t be.

Blood and tire marks had matted the once pristine coat, but even without life in its eyes Maggie recognized the distinctive black eye patch marking and fluffy black tipped tail of Petey, her friend Kate’s cat. Maggie rose to her feet so fast she swayed, world starting to dim, and grabbed the trunk of her car for support. This was no good. No good at all. She was meeting Kate for dinner just a few hours from now. And here was her cat, Cap’n Pete, twisted and lifeless behind her car. His last great adventure. Who knew he’d use up his nine lives so fast?

Maggie looked up and down the street and was relieved to see the street was void of people. Carefully, she rolled the stiffening Petey to the side of the road with her foot, just off the pavement. If not for the awkward twist of his spine and red matted patches on his fur, he looked almost serene surrounded by the patches of bright clover that clustered around his head. He might have been sleeping. Maggie took one more glance around her. The street was still empty. She hopped back in her car, hoping the tire marks left behind could never be traced back to her.

The Terror

“Ouch! What the heck was that for?”

A quick pain shot through my shin to my knee and back down. I briefly considered kicking the kid back, then caught the sharp glance from Melissa, before she stepped out of the room and into the kitchen. I glared back at her, clutching at my throbbing right leg. Ben, meanwhile, ignored me. I bit my lip before taking a deep breath, and tried to unbury what patience I might have left from within. I decided sitting down might help cure the nearly overpowering twitch that was still screaming at me to just kick him.

“Ben.” My voice seemed unnaturally high. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “Ben, it’s really not nice to kick people. It doesn’t feel good, and…”

The kid was already halfway across the room, beelining it for some exotic-looking plant sitting on the coffee table. I hopped to my feet to follow him, but tripped. He had managed to untie my shoe during my brief speech on niceties. I watched helplessly from my belly-down position on the floor as the plant landed upside-down on the cream-colored carpet. Oh, if only I had a gun....

Saline

I called you and there you were,
created by my tears,
melting away moment by moment.
I didn’t know how to hold on.
I still don’t know how to let go.
Time has nothing to do with it.
Time is unkind.

Water. Salt. Both
have their ways of burning.
The crust of saline mucking
up my eyes reminds me.
They are my remnant of you.
Of that day.

I hate it and I hold it and
it is cradled, cobwebbed and frozen,
an amateur snapshot
of life, of me, of…

But how could you know.
I let you melt away.

Unspoken

There is strength and weakness
hand in hand, found in
subtleties that scream so loud
I can hear them when I’m sleeping.

It’s going to happen.
Someday.
Eventually.
Consuming everything that
should and shouldn’t be.

Anticipation and dread.
Failed restraint, bindings will
break loose and lose meaning.
Understanding
that burns and leaves scars.

Something to remember me by.

Winifred And Chloe

“Win-Win, wait up!”

Oh how Winifred hated that nickname. She rolled her eyes and trudged on ever more deliberately, silently cursing her parents for the childish nickname that was still haunting her, even in adolescence. She didn’t mind Winnie, she didn’t even mind Fred, but Win-Win grated her nerves into parmesan, especially when squealed from the lips of her eight year old little sister, Chloe.

“Win-Wiiin!”

Chloe dragged out the second “Win” long enough to make Winifred flinch. She stopped, mid-step, giving in if only to stop her sister from repeating the name again. Chloe was panting when she reached her, and Winifred folded her arms crossly.

“Would you stop calling me that?” Winifred glowered at her sister, trying to penetrate her thick skull with the laser vision she didn’t possess.

“But that’s your name.”

“No, Chloe, it’s not. My name’s Winifred. Not Win-Win. I hate that name.”

“But Daddy always calls you that.”

Winifred started walking again, ignoring the remark. She was wishing she had laser vision, or at least some duct tape, so she could seal those obnoxious little lips shut for the rest of the walk home. It was like this everyday. Winifred would get out of school, walk to the elementary school and wait for her sister, and then they’d walk home together. Usually she didn’t mind too much, but on days like today, when her friends were all at the arcade without her due to her sisterly obligations – no – requirements, it was almost too much for her handle. And then that nickname to top it off! Winifred clenched her fists tight enough to make fingernail dents in her palm.

“You’re walking too fast again,” Chloe whined.

“Then maybe you should jog. It’s good for you.”

Random Ideas, Take 1

She had permanently pursed lips, her face frozen in a pout. She held her chin unnaturally high and the tip of her nose lifted, as if held by an invisible thread. Her cheeks were full and pink, and she often tugged at the waist of her skirt with her plump fingers, which somehow managed to always hike itself up above her bellybutton - a condition that she abhorred.

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There is something about palm trees that makes the sun feel less hot.