Friday, December 25, 2009


embonpoint \ahn-bohn-PWAN\ , noun;
Plumpness of person; stoutness.

A teapot sits on a stove, blue
flames licking at its bottom,
incessant, contained, flickering.

Bubbling can be heard, a low
whine that will soon turn to screaming -
a low, round mug waits,
set on the countertop,

A man waits with it, watches
from a stool, his butt careening
off the sides, spilling even,

He waits, head on hand, wrist to elbow,
bone angling into the flesh above his wide knee, he watches
the pot get hotter.

There is an ache in his throat that grows,
crawls with fits of coughing and cackling
hacking sounds that he has come to keeping down

With jaws shut and honey in a cup that waits
with the man, staring as the steam jumps and shoots
toward the low ceiling -

The legs of the stool snap.

Thursday, December 17, 2009


fecund\FEE-kuhnd; FEK-uhnd\, adjective:

1. Capable of producing offspring or vegetation; fruitful; prolific.
2. Intellectually productive or inventive.

It's nighttime now. They are both asleep. Another thing that they are that I am not. I don't think I have slept since my body became mine again, since the hospital. I slept the day they let me out, the day we got back. He said that he would take the baby and that I should rest. So I went to the bed and I rested. I looked at him and I thanked him and I kissed them both on the cheek. I had enough love for them to do that, didn't I? And then I walked up the stairs, ran my hand along the banister, and crawled into bed. I fell asleep almost immediately.
The pillowcase was cool, a blessing on my feverish skin, my throbbing brain. The sheets were a mess and I could almost find the same spot my body had been in before. Before when I could almost pretend that I was still only me. Still just a woman. Still just a wife. The time before that strange sensation came. Before I got myself up for what I assumed would be my nightly communion with the toilet bowl. Before I took a few steps and the fluid started to seep out and scurry down my legs. The time before the beginning of what I knew would be the end. Of me.
Now it is nighttime again. And I know I am no longer just me. I hear the sound of two other sets of lungs breathing. And when I hear that sound and feel their presence, another feeling comes to me. The feeling of my own breath escaping me as if the air were rushing to the sides of the room, as if there were only enough for the other two. That I have to sacrifice. Always sacrifice. And for a moment, I stop breathing at all. For a moment, I wonder if I will ever breathe again. And I wonder if I want to.

Sunday, December 13, 2009


depredation \dep-ruh-DAY-shun\, noun:
an act of plundering or despoiling; a raid.

"Argh!" "Arrrrrgh!!" "Aaaaaarrrrrggh!!!"

He stood in front of his mother's full length mirror in his pirate costume, practicing his "Aye matey"s and his "swash-buckle"ing. He swung his sword around and held it high in the air. His mother wasn't quite sure if pirates genuinely had swords, but it didn't really matter. She knew he just liked swinging it around. He liked drawing it out of its holster and thrusting it at walls and through doorways. Thankfully, no one yet had walked into harm's way and gotten the wind knocked out of them.

He hadn't approved of the carved pumpkin shaped candy holder. It didn't go with his pirate clothes. So she had fashioned something out of random fabric in her craft drawer. It almost looked like a hobo traveling pack to her, but it had been boy-approved. She would attach it to the sash tied around his waist. He didn't want it to look like a candy bag. Pirates didn't carry around candy purses. They captured gold! Booty! Argh!

In keeping with the theme, she would wear a raggedy old dress and personify the damsel in distress. She would let him threaten her with walking the plank and she would shriek in fear when he raised his weapon. She would refrain from hugging him too much, from telling him not to eat so many Sugar Daddies. In their own candy jar for the kids who would knock at their door, there were mounds upon mounds of chocolate gold coins.

The boy wondered what kind of a pirate would give away his treasure, but he would say nothing to his mother. It was obvious she just didn't get it.