Categories
creative nonfiction Writing

Morning Egg

It’s still early enough

And I need to get the juices flowing

My fingers and hands stay remarkable still, though I’m an anxious mess each morning

The execution is so key to the end result

The first, loud click is heard throughout my apartment.

Then the next

Before I know it, I’m looking at a short two sentences sure to start a verbal war on Twitter.

I start, “This may be an unpopular opinion and I may be suspended for it…”

Categories
creative nonfiction Poetry Writing

Unloving Love

Today, I’m at the freehand on Ohio (19 E), feeling fortunate that I can leave

then to

somewhere to sleep the same night

then to

my need to rush the gauntlet where people (are meant to) battle to meet (but ultimately fall short of) my lofty expectations

then to:

negative ruminations behind

and a mind to be sure when this happens next time…

I’ll end the war in a loft

some place more than just “somewhere to sleep the same night”

Categories
creative nonfiction Poetry Sonnets Writing

Sonnet 001

Though she be bare, each curve is free from chinks;

For times her life leaned on a draining source

I swore we’d last that one night over drinks

The words themselves pushing me forward with force.

I’d hoped so deep the technician was right

Restoration: new battery and case;

We’d go back to where we were that night

My mind occupied, blue light in my face.

The bulk was done and now came time to choose;

You deserve new color and brand new air;

Bells and whistles, I splurged for full kit, too!

Saving you showed me plainly I was bare.

The things I own, I told myself, held worth.

Without care, how’d I expect you to go forth?

Categories
creative nonfiction Writing

The 12:20 Ride

Alecs was lucky to be able to hop into this Uber. It was under $8 on a route they’d been taking for months. At the beginning of February the price averaged as low as $6. These days, the lowest has been $13. Now, the other passenger pipes, “Why don’t you try driving for Lyft? I hear they pay well.” It donned on him: ride share apps are so communal in their design that the people (passenger and drivers) will always be on the same side–despite some of those thinly-veiled attempts to pit drivers and passengers against each other, disguised as emails explaining price differences.

Although he had a question for the other passenger, he thought it better to let the thought die in his head than ruin this ‘carpool’ that landed them together 2 days out of every week at 5:40 each morning.

“Why would you want someone to drive for the company with which you chose not to do business? For whatever reason, this Uber ride made more sense for you. In my case the decision was financial. Whatever your reasoning, you got into this car using one app and suggested the driver do the exact opposite. Perhaps this is part of your grand scheme. The more drivers leave Uber, the less drivers the company will need to pay for idling. The cheaper your Uber rides will be in four months. For about eight weeks straight. Right before the prices soar again. You know, due to lack of sufficient drivers.

The most difficult part of Alecs’ days were sharing spaces with strangers and trying to prevent a screwed up face. Now all is covered like silent show and long gone are the days of shared rides. What was once nonsense-talk to carry on conversation, now feels like a monologue belched out on an island shared with no one. What some of us wouldn’t do to catch water-cooler talk! To speak to someone in the car and get as wrapped up in details as you both allow until the end of your trip together. How deeply we used to be wrapped up in the details!

Categories
creative nonfiction Writing

Shards Will Nestle the Marble

I fear, on the day of my wedding, we will drop our glass and won’t care where the shards fly. We’ll receive the news. It will be time for us to leave to the wilderness. I’ll be shocked at how irrational I feel, but I’ll be upset–so upset I will refuse to flee in time. I won’t forgive myself if I miss a dance with my father. We sometimes speak on the phone. I feel the fizzing ringer and the phone lights itself. I do some smalltalk with him until nearly twelve minutes when, once again, I see we are both are so keenly aware we have failed where we could’ve connected. It would kill him just as much to miss the father-daughter dance.

We might just take those moments to sway while boulders ripple the ground in vibrations around us. Something metallic sounds like it could hit us next time. Each time we hope its the next time and not this time. Our audience will be partially made up of those crying and looking for cover. The rest will be made up of those too enthralled by the issues of others, they will risk their safety to see us. “They waited until the very last moment to admit there was a gap between.” We will spin both in our favor. They are here to see us.

So my romantic half… Who is to say he doesn’t also see himself waiting for the fall of boulders to stop him from marrying me. Until I know him, I can count on what I have. And I am still imagining what isn’t quite here. So I feel no guilt wanting all the romantic pleasantness even if we are running out of serious time. It feels like as I lay here, looking out at the orchid leaves in the midnight lights, it doesn’t make sense this desire should be off limits. Can’t we all want different things? When I am considering what I personally want, to hell with progressiveness! And never come back!

I know one of the songs I will dance to (even if it has to be with my father): “You are the Ocean” by Phantogram. Even if the song is in my head or I hum it while I cry.

“He loved me. Because he loved me, he waited to hold me. He waited. He waited. And when he finally, finally, finally finally did hold me, there was warmth and acceptance and understanding and purity.” – I cannot remember if I wrote this line or read it.