Small Square Bites

Wolf Creek ski run opened today, earliest reported snowfall in the mountains in October. I vacation with five women and outside our rooms the steam off the Mother Pool spills a thick silvery liquid like mercury. Nimbostratus hover like crumpled painter’s drop cloth stained periwinkle and peach above the cold river periphery and quieted lights on the Mexican restaurant across the street where the bartender hasn’t yet begun pouring tequila or beer.

Deanna says there’s a Patsy Cline tribute in town tonight to benefit an art museum named after a local watercolorist and it’s all happening on Fritz and Mabel Place. I chuckle at the street name, deciding whether to take a fourth trip down to the hot springs or simply nap.

Then my daughter telephones sobbing of the inevitable break-up from her first love, and my husband claims on another line that he can navigate this as I am too far away to be able to do anything, really. Still I assure her this experience will eventually unfurl kindly and without blemish.

While in the temporary living room, I silently nod to my girlfriends who tiptoe in and out - yes, bring me a whiskey neat, please, and I’m selfishly wondering about the directions to the country western concert as my heartbroken little one whimpers, voice cracking like a broken wire I’ve just stepped over and the metal trails, snagged.

I slowly recline in this getaway corner on the border of sulfur smells and lithium float, between indecision and reality's home, here where we will rest until tomorrow. The only recipe to free any of us from disappointments, the 100 degree tubs named Overlook, Paradise, Clouds in my Coffee, and Lobster Pot. As my drink arrives, I nod gratitude to my friend and continue to listen patiently to my daughter, as I take the crystalized ginger offered in small square bites.

in reminiscence of another October- for Delaney and the Yeehahs

Comments

Vessel

Inside I imagine puckered cups of butter cookies nested in paper that releases a sigh But instead there may be fiction within wishes never reciprocated Playbill of redundant arguments One black glove found fraying This vessel on an emptied table solo temptation is labeled with another’s name Guarded initials as if carved in melting snow A tool unsuited to the task of prying open Not yet valentine

Shameless Early Promotion

My poetry book, The Fiction of Stillness, is available for pre-order now on Barnes and Noble. Official release date August 1st, 2024. Here's a taste: ... The table is smooth and round symmetric The chairs are haphazardly placed at the end of this day I have breast cancer I say into the receiver [communities must] pool resources How to produce the sounds of the imaging report into sentences that resonate with months of postponement weighty contrast on my right side computing and comparing IM ratios for greater insight not sufficient to prove the efficacy of screening ...

A Matter of Travel

Solstice, 2019, for Tracy 1. And cross borders we do often without leaving our houses. Our bodies dream of gardens. Our hands flutter as feeling exits as we press hard against the solid entry door. I type the names of cities. My search reveals rivers, airfares, temperatures in July. 2. Seeking sleep, I am transported through music piped into tiny earbuds. While on an island my father has two seizures in the night. His ten children fly to one another with cautionary fright, typing. Time zones vary from each cell phone exclamation. Two sisters, you and I, raise questions that barely touch down for others but I witness you. 3. By morning we’re assured was merely fainting, and I reconsider change of plans. No emergency to rush to his quiet side. I walk no farther instead to this table for eggs, an English muffin. Arrive inside my individual conclusions. Concern that happin...

As Mourning Doves Persist

Search This Blog