Beggars Would Ride

Beggars would ride outside my window.

Twilight brought the clutch of hooves spiriting forth - bone to cobblestones, muscles to earth.

They rode without warning. 

One minute, the city would crackle with the festival of cell phone noise and radio station waves.  In the next minute, sound became frightened of its own shadow, hiding in the cool, leafy mulberry trees.

I knew I was intruding, watching them race while the moon pursed her lips and stared. 

I was a child.   A rather nervous one.  I could never surrender to the lie sleep promised me. 

But the beggars! 

Their eyes - flecked with danger, open and alert.

Each rider tore through the dark, mouth wide open in a voiceless shout.

Teeth, curved like knives.

They rode -only for one another.   When the dark grew tired of the earth, the beggars returned to their alleys and tunnels and benches, and slept the way a coffin sleeps, safe and tight.

In the morning, they were like old paperback novels lined with mud.   Guilt pressed its hands over my throat, and I fought the urge to shout and run mad into the streets, singing their singular lives.

Another night.  Another beggar's ride.  And for me, another sleepless wish.

Minutes Before the Invention of Velcro

Minutes before the invention of Velcro,  the dog stopped to urinate.

We had been hiking for hours.  I was glad to be outside, away from work and the windowless factory.

1941.  I was 34, and a widower.  

I couldn't stand drinking.  Heard it was the best cure for loneliness.  Instead, my hikes became more frequent.  Walking further and further beyond the recommended route.

The dog whimpered, and ran to me.

I thought at first he wanted to show off his waste.  He was a proud sort of dog  - loved to make his mark along every trail we found together.

Then I saw the burdock seeds stuck in his fur.  He tried to chew them off, but only dug the plant deeper in his hide.

Squatting down, I held the dog with one hand and used my pocketknife to cut the hairs that held the tenacious burdock.

While the dog broke free and celebrated with a few delightful barks, I held the burdock seeds, each the size of a man's eye, and thought of my lost love.

If Jeanne were here, she would've poked me in the ribs, teased me to listen to the old women who swear by using burdock as medicine.  You could put some more hairs on your thinning pate, she would have grinned.

I wish it was easier for things to keep safe and close.

That people had as much a fighting chance at being together as the burdock has a chance of keeping its legacy alive, holding tight to any one who comes near, tossing its seeds as they walk with the burr's elegant hooks.

The hooks...

Would you look at the genius nature has made
with the burdock's hooks!

Lessons Learned in the dark - 9/16

This is the part of the movie where the figure in the shadows steps forward.
Flicks the last third of his cigarette with his fingers.

If the twin corpses at the man's feet had breath, you'd have bet they'd have screamed.

Instead, their gas-drenched bodies silently shiver with flames.

The child is staring down the fire. They were his parents.

The figure claps a ash-covered hand on the child's shoulder.

Guess I've just made your fucking night, he drawls.
Not every child gets to have an origin story.

And decades from now, when your knuckles bleed from the weight of skull to fist, you'll remember me. Hell, maybe even thank me.

But you'll never take me. I lack a name, a face, even the dignity to stay alive long enough to face you. I'll probably measure out too much heroin, fall asleep in a bathtub.

Peaceful-like.

Well, kid - it's been fun. Have a nice life.

Regret

So you're in the phone for an hour today.
With 2004.
She's sweet and beautiful, just like before.
But she is unraveling. She wants 2004 to be everywhere. Wants the same joy she had, and refuses to loosen her panic grip.

Look at this photo. It's like staring at people from a foreign country. The past.
Where you were so pluckish and goofy, like a baby duckling. You and your pretentious literary
mag swag. Celluar phone clipped to the pants with pride.

The past. That uninvited guest. You open the door. You pour it a drink. You keep your voice
firm. You will give them no hospitality. You grab their coat. You open and close the door behind them.

Glut

Too much fat pillowed inside your flesh.
Too many books hoarded past their orginal desire, lapping up dust.
Too many promises to care for yourself unfulfilled.
Too many trappings and not enough freedom.

Look at you. You're a potted plant. Mid thirties, close to three hundred pounds, and not a dream in your head.

No more. 143 days. This project starts now.