#original lit

But there is something which they may…or may not remember at all when that time comes, at least if they do not survive to see it for themselves, and that is the belief that there still is a flicker of light at the end of the long, long tunnel…a bright, red fire of hope for a better future, for you are a representative of that fire which is burning in your heart and can see things which these men cannot. Your black hair will surely remind them of the spectre of death which looms over their whole lives, and your crimson dress will not only remind them of the blood they have spilled for their causes, but also the horrors of them all, and the rising of the sun on a new spring day…a future spring day after a long, dark winter of war when life will arise anew from the ashes, rubble and smoke and the tired people will lay down their arms to rebuild their families and homes in the name of your values of compassion, empathy, kindness, and love, not only for each other regardless of creed, race or the flags which fly over the lands of their countries, but also for Mother Nature, too…”

A familiar strangeness, A comforting unease. Oxymorons, drawn bladelike through the night sky. They come from West where the sun set, screaming, warbling like U.F.O.s, Their bodies hard to discern against the blackness. Thus their lights tangle in a fixed but unsightable space as though bobbling in miasma, Shifting disconcertingly as the pilots tell them, “roll.”

I let myself feel a pre-emptive hair-raising and my nerves bloat with the horror of an overhead mystery Even though I know As much as I want to believe tonight’s the night, today’s the day At the last moment I will bear witness to a particular angle and recognize anatomically The layout of some government jet. I’ll think, “I know you,” And as unsettling as it is to see them in civilian skies I know they ring ‘round the valley here Because there is a base near, and they’ve got to wait in line.

I know them so I nod and say, “I know you,” but In the aftermath of that affirmation comes the afterbirth: “I don’t know why you fly.” I know you, What you’re here to do, But not what sands may still cling to your landing gear.

I watch hawklike until the plane goes Over the houses, Over the hills, And out of my life. From a dark well dug millennia ago comes another thought: Today I know you, Tomorrow, I might not.

A beleaguered beast inside me - A watchdog intent on discerning the oncoming of eternal night in time to run from it - Wrestles its head up and watches the spot now empty of lights for a second that feels like a long time. I let it gnaw that paranoia-inducing sentiment like a bone Until sated and sleepy I It settles down. Tomorrow, it will slumber and fail to wake when everything actually worrisome comes.

This nightly ritual is vital to tame its appetite Because The planes go Over the houses, over the hills, And out of my life And nothing ever comes of it But another night, and another round of “Is it? Is that? It isn’t - relax” Whereas the real rustling little armageddons plaguing my waking day would stir the beast to genuine fright And I fear together we would combust.

"What do you think they do to people who remove the chips from their brain?  You never see them again."

You brought me flowers when you were here last-

An apology.

Or a thank you.

A something.

And I set them on my dresser,

Pretty and perfect

And let them die there.

It was easier to let them die than summon the effort to throw them away.

I touched my red swollen lips. How they blistered and burned, like walking barefoot in a Macy’s parking lot.

I smeared my lips with a cool red chapstick. More and more until they were a bright cherry red.

I licked my lips, hmm, strawberry candy! Red is god’s gift.

Mami said to come outside, so I skipped freely wearing nothing but lovely red. Si, Mami?

Smack. Nina! Estupido. She pulled me inside so that my cousins couldn’t see me crying and wiped my face of the devil’s red lipstick.

It’s stupid to fall for gay guys. That’s what my sister Suzanne said while she scoured the stovetop. But Grover is different, I told her. He wasn’t like all the men who fucked me over, men like Ariel’s father, whatever happened to him.