Her favorite name for candy was Starburst.
Her favorite name for a recycling company that she had recently taken notice of was Cloudburst.
These expulsions. They could bring her to her knees; drive away demons. These slightest of suggestions.
Days where everything had meaning: Lights turning green were indicative.
If a dog barked twice.
For a tangerine peel to come off, maintained in one connected piece without coming undone beneath her fingers.
If the penny tossed while feeding the meter turned up on tails. Everything told something.
Everyday she wore items that fit the same description. Khaki shorts, tie died shirt of some sort, gauzy white scarf. A purposeful precaution should she turn up missing, she’d be easy to describe. Her fears over-arching; ever present. That head of hers- full of responsibility. Slippery shaped thoughts akin to greased palms, just as hard to hold.
Thin veil between psychedelic induced psychosis and one slipped into her drink. So suspicious. She could be found on the beach, laying in a tangle, trying to distinguish between which kind.
Luckily there were the calming elements. The source could be from a passing truck with the simplest of messages. Or the cold-awake-wide-open feel of ocean. Ocean. Ocean. It’s own sentence. Paragraph. Novel. Her biggest self. It tousled and it soothed.
And snails. How she loved them. The time they took. The swirl continuum. The iridescent remnants. Did they even have a destination? A model, indeed. “Be more like the snail”– something she would breathe and drive into the bottom of her belly. Someone had to own the mantra. Be more like the snail. Time is on my side. Even if this was said in rushed fashion it provided a balloon’s worth of weight off her back. She had these things. Palms unneeded. It could be nice.
This woman was the first person to be recognizable in containing a purposeful aimlessness. What an achievement. Her town’s people thought she a gentle kook: All weary smiles. She knew they knew of the springboard that lay within. Of this she was sure. Unhingable at any moment sans notice.
But what are their skeletons? She wondered often.
A good question, though not everyone’s dance like hers.
A doe-eyed doctor once told her to give up the sauce. She had taken to drinking spirits because of the name implication. The potentiality of unknown company. Another soother. Absinthe was a no-go, of course. Too close. Too witchy. She knew the limits. But challenge herself she did, and lessen her mania she had, when it came to cutting back on such a vice. Good job good job, said the voices from her sidelines, despite her bag being no stranger to a buttery cognac. Remy Martin just sounded like such a protector.
The sound of things. Eyes being the first line of defense, only once approved would her mouth take it on. No sense in tempting fate.
Explosions always on the horizon, lest they be unuttered and ignored.
Only a sunburst could make way.
Holla! It’s a good day when I get to read your work, Pidgie. “A purposeful precaution should she turn up missing, she’d be easy to describe.” Yeeees. We have to get your work submitted to literary magazines. I think you would win competitions. Have you tried Missouri Review? Something to look into! 🙂 Ruth
You’re the best. Thanks so much. How do I go about it? Just submit it to them? Is it that easy?
I wouldn’t say it’s easy, but it’s worth doing – there are a lot of guidelines about saving your submission as a certain file type, etc. There is a $3 submission fee, but one good thing is that you can submit a butt-load of poetry as one file, so only one fee for that. I think you should submit both your poems and your slice-of-life stories, cuz both are equally strong.
http://www.missourireview.com/submissions/
Go get em, Pidgie!
Love you, I do. Thanks so very.
Mwah! Be sure to send an autographed copy of your first novel. I can say I knew you when!
Fantastic. Really been enjoying your work!
Thank you so much. Appreciate you!
So I really love your work. Ever thought of having someone do an illustration or two for some of it?
rad. I would la la looove that!
Sweet! My email is on my “about” page so if you ever want to collaborate, just hit me up.
I’m with rhc… makes me twitch and my seat and then take long, deep breaths of relief. I especially sank in to the last couple paragraphs. Brill, as the kids these days say.
twitch IN my seat…
Brill? Thanks for making me hipper. I really try to keep up.
And thank you for that compliment. I’m so glad you like it and it makes me feel special (;
Where’s your writing? I haven’t seen anything coming up in the feed!
This is nuts good. Felt like it was between prose and poetry the whole way along. And it feels like a dream, a feeling I love to read (if that makes sense). Instant fan right here. Lovely writing. Real writing.