Tag: original prose

Jesus stood in the background
staring, unmoving
with his right hand missing
never making a sound
I think he was waiting
for me to speak first
but I could not
think of anything to say
perhaps
I’ll make a point
of coming back tomorrow
I need to weigh all the options
that don’t include sorrow
I suppose I could ask him
where his hand went
we’ll see…

how ,
I don’t know.
that was you
in my dream
wasn’t it..
how
I don’t know.
I’ve never
seen you before.
we drove in your car
past strawberry fields
laughing
laughing
I remember laughing
your hair
dazzled me
I thought
what beautiful kids
we would have
what beautiful kids
you would have
and I would be there
to watch
wishing
I could have one
too

what time is it?

what time would you like it to be?

a new time.
a different time,
with a different understanding.
unspoken,
unquestioned,
as pure
as the water
lapping the shore,
as certain as the
tide.
as real
as tears uncried,
for there would be
no reason to cry them.

a time where I am not subjected
to the implication,
no matter how nuanced,
no matter how subtle,
that I am somehow less of a being
than the men who walk the earth.
I want a time where the thought
never entered the collective consciousness
of either side of the equation.

“can you take me there”? she asked

I met her once
in the south of France.
she was
sitting on the fender
of an unresponsive automobile
looking blithe
and so unreal,
perspiration leaving
tiny rivers
running down her
brown body.
how anything
could be unresponsive
with her sitting on it
I could never understand.

she always liked
her eggs over easy

don’t break the yolk

she would break it
with her finger

the index finger
on her left hand

I would then
lick it clean

it made her laugh
for some reason

oh yeah, then
two pieces of toast
white bread
thinly buttered

make sure
all the butter melts

“God”, she would say
(not that she
was addressing me)

“I just hate cold globs
of unmelted butter”