QUIET LIGHTNING IS:

a literary nonprofit with a handful of ongoing projects, including a monthly, submission-based reading series featuring all forms of writing without introductions or author banterof which sparkle + blink is a verbatim transcript. The series moves around to a different venue every month, appearing so far in bars, art galleries, music halls, bookstores, night clubs, a greenhouse, a ballroom, a theater, a mansion, a sporting goods store, a pirate store, a print shop, a museum, a hotel, and a cave.

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sparkle + blink 65 2015 Quiet Lightning

artwork Ryan Martinryanmartinart.com

By Chance by Alexander Petersonwas first published by The Rumpus.

Sometimes Pop is Inside the Bottle; Sometimes the Bottle is Inside of Pop by Daniel Riddle Rodriguez was first published in Literary Orphans.

book design by j. brandon loberg

set in Absara

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CONTENTScurated by

Lapo Guzzini and Nora Toomey

featured artist Ryan Martin

MATT LEIBEL Anaphora 1

SUZANNAH WEISS How to Prepare for a Date 5

MAGGIE TOKUDA-HALL Miri and the Squid 7

JARVIS SUBIA All Hail the Queen 13

A.G. MOORE Red Ibis 15

HUGH BEHM-STEINBERG Masked Boobies 17 Mouse-colored Penduline Tits 19

PETER BULLEN Unwise 21

ALICIA FRANCO Blister Throat 27 What Took Over 28

ALEXANDER PETERSON By Chance 29

SEAN TAYLOR When Youre Caught 31

TIM DONNELLY apostrophe 33

CHRISTOPHER DIZON Mismatched Shoes 37

DANIEL RIDDLE

RODRIGUEZ Sometimes Pop is Inside of the Bottle; Sometimes the Bottle is Inside of Pop 43

PATRICIA CASPERS Sugar Says 47

QUIET LIGHT

NING IS SPONSORED BY

l a g u n i t a s . c o m

QUIET LIGHTNING

A 501(c)3, the primary objective and purpose of Quiet Lightning is to foster a community based on literary expression and to provide an arena for said expression. QL produces a monthly, submission-based reading series on the first Monday of every month, of which these books (sparkle + blink) are verbatim transcripts.

Formed as a nonprofit in July 2011, the board of QL is currently:

Evan Karp founder + presidentChris Cole managing directorJosey Lee public relationsMeghan Thornton treasurerKristen Kramer chair

Kelsey Schimmelman secretarySarah Ciston director of booksKatie Wheeler-Dubin director of films

Sidney Stretz & Laura Cern Meloart directors

Rose Linke & RJ Ingramoutreach directors

Sarah Maria Griffin & Ceri Bevandirectors of special operations

If you live in the Bay Area and are interested in helpingon any levelplease send us a line:

evan@ quiet l ightning .org

1M A T T M M I B M M

ANAPHORA

Lets pretend like you love me. Lets pretend like you mean it in the way I want you to mean it. Lets pretend that Love is a commodity like Orange Juice or Pork Futures, and that it is publicly traded on the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. Lets pretend that Time is merely an illusion, and that the only reason calendars even exist is because skilled magicians have been making time disappear since time immemorial. Lets pretend like you know where the hell Im going with this. Lets pretend like these light fixtures are tiny planets. Lets pretend like you love me and you cant sleep because your heart is pounding and your mind is racing. Lets pretend like Mind Racing is a fast-growing all-American pastime thats quickly becoming as popular as NASCAR, despite the fact that it takes place entirely within our heads and doesnt involve spectacular crashes or flying tires on fire or guys named Kyle sponsored by Marlboro. Lets pretend like gummy bears are a real kind of bear and that 846 campers a year in North America are mauled to death by the green ones alone. Lets pretend that I have the heart of a Lion. Lets pretend that the Lion is profoundly uncool with this, and is now furiously chasing after me in a desperate effort to retrieve his severed heart.

2Lets pretend my heart is beating as fast as the lion is running, and that Richard the Lion-Hearted, certainly, would have something to say about all of this, were he available. Lets pretend that we live in dangerous times. Okay, we dont need to pretend this, but lets pretend like we do. Lets pretend Im holding the Moon for ransom. Lets pretend that I will return the Moon in exchange for a years supply of delicious Moon Pies. Lets pretend the before picture is the after picture. Lets pretend there are people Ive never seen before at the afterparty. Lets pretend like were still the same people we were before we saw the afterbirth.

Lets pretend that street signs provide us with emotional direction. Lets pretend you love me and I ask you to prove your love for me by boosting my Klout score with Twitter testimonials and positive Yelp feedback. Lets pretend that weve just arrived from outer space and want to know where to find inner peace. Lets pretend that our best days are behind usand that theyre about to jump us, and snag our wallets. Lets pretend I can read your thoughts. Lets pretend that Ive already read your thoughts and thought that even though they were well-written, they werent all that likable, they had no real narrative arc, plus the whole constantly-worrying-about-the-end-of-civiliization thing is kind of played out, dont you think? Lets pretend that hats have their own sexuality, and that at any moment the stacked hats humping each other in hat shops are feeling the highest heights of hatgasmic pleasure. Lets pretend like mentioning self-loathing

Matt LeibeL 3

as a hobby on an online dating profile isnt a flag so red it draws actual blood through the keyboard. Lets pretend that the Moon is my homeboy. Lets pretend that in addition to grilled cheese, there is something called a politely-questioned cheese sandwich.

Lets pretend that I have recently set the world record for peanut butter consumption in a single sitting, and that this achievement, combined with my subsequent appearance on the Charlie Rose program, is enough to make you want me. Lets pretend that there is an app for growing a well-groomed mustache. Lets pretend that there is a superhero named Superficial Man. Lets pretend that my love for you is not just a feeling in my brain, but also a spokescharacter for a popular childrens cereal called Love Bites. Lets pretend that weve all learned an important lesson here tonight about the dangers of anaphora, the literary technique of deliberately repeating a word or phrase at the beginning of every verse, paragraph or sentence. Lets pretend that you love me, or at least that youre interested in moving to the Moon with me, if only to save on rent, or because youre intrigued by the possibilities of zero-gravity Yoga, or because you just need a change of scene. Lets pretend that you love me, and that we get married, and that I suggest we have our Honeymoon on the Moon, and that when we get there, the Moon is covered in Honey, and then I freak out because our bungalow is swarming with Moon-Bees, and you say its all my fault for taking language so goddamn literally.

4Lets pretend that Ive ruined everythingincluding these beautiful ruins of Bronze Age Amphora vases. Lets pretend that I can build it all back again, anaphorically speaking.

5S U SA S S A H W M I S S

HOW TO PREPARE FOR A DATE

1. Formulate answers to possible questions about your family that paint you as endearingly dysfunctional rather than mentally ill. Dont get all Freudian.

2. Prepare to back up your arbitrary opinions and vague impressions with concrete facts: Which lines of dialogue point to Ross being such an asshole on Friends? Is it statistically true that most American adults own coffee machines?

3. Brainstorm a few accomplishments over the past week that make you seem like a well-rounded person with hobbies. Exclude anything involving your anarchist study group or your Shaman circle.

4. Decide in advance what you wont blurt out during awkward silences: Does anyone want to know your opinion on urinals? Are your childhood masturbation habits first-date material?

5. Keep a few non-threatening topics of

6conversation at hand: Whats the deal with rhinoceri? Theyre like fat unicorns. No, not that. Think of something better than that.

6. Flip through the last novel you read to sound like youve been reading something besides French feminist philosophy and self-help guides on communing with angels.

7. Determine how to explain your suspicious areas of expertise: Cognitive behavioral therapy? Learned about it in college. Object sexuality? There was an article in Psychology Today (which you did not find in your therapists waiting room). Satanic rituals? You had this crazy roommate one time.

8. In case you really dig yourself into a hole, formulate excuses for leaving that sound specific enough to be real: Ive got to bring my friend Stephanie some collage materials for a vision board that manifests her goals. You can learn about it on Oprah.

9. Check for aberrations in your appearance, such as unremoved cat jewelry, laundry-shrunken bras that dont cover the entire boob, or makeup that leaves your neck and chin different colors.

10. Do breathing exercises.

7M AM M I

M T O M U D A - H A M MMIRI AND THE SQUID

Miri went on a date with a squid, and it was exactly what she deserved.

The squid was shorter than its profile promised, but Miri was used to that. The squid was also very nervous, having just gotten out of a long-term relationship, and it admitted as much. Dating was rough, Miri offered, and the squid agreed, and they laughed about it, but it didnt make the squid any less uncomfortable.

This date, she knew, was the karmic retribution she had to pay for her last relationship, which she was singularly responsible for destroying. And so when they walked into the coffee shop that was, until a few months ago, Miris neighborhood coffee shop, she wasnt at all surprised to see that barista was the same, pretty tattooed girl who had always taken Miri and Bens orders, when this was the coffee shop that they shared. But the squid had chosen the spot, so what could Miri say?

The squid ordered a chai, and the barista looked at Miri with a face that said: So youre on a date with a squid, huh? And Miri wasnt even mad, just

8ashamed because yes, yes she was on a date with a squid, and honestly it was the most promising date shed been on in the terrible months since Ben had dumped her. She and the squid were both big Game of Thrones fans, and both played a lot of Mario Kart, and the squids messages had been polite and funny, or funny-ish, which was good enough.

So Miri got an espresso, and didnt put any sugar in it, because she couldnt stand the thought of the barista judging her and the squid any more than she already clearly was. The squid was pretty good looking for a squid, but still a squid, a squid who ordered sugary drinks. The espresso tasted like all the bitterness Miri deserved, and also her name was spelled incorrectly on the cup.

When the squid asked her what she did for a living, Miri knew the date was taking a turn for the boring, and that her less than impressive answer was a result of her own flagging ambition and that she could hardly feel sorry for herself when confronted with her own mediocrity. You reap what you sow, after all, and Miri had not sown seeds for success.

I work in admin, she said, and the squid didnt have any follow-up questions.

They were sitting in an ocean of uncomfortable silence when Miris chair self-destructed, the back left leg snapping off with a CRACK that alerted everyone

Maggie tokuda-HaLL 9

in the caf to Miris unending embarrassment, a punishment, Miri knew, for not going to the gym, and letting her body go soft, and for eating all of those refined sugars.

She picked herself off the ground, her face not so much red as it was the color of a shame supernova, and the barista asked her if she was OK but didnt apologize about the chair, and the squid tried unhelpfully to pick Miri off the ground with its many tentacles, all the while asking Are you OK, are YOU OK, ARE YOU OK, which just made Miri feel worse, but she smiled and said she was indeed OK OK OK, and her smile seemed to mollify the squid.

And when they stepped out of the coffee shop, Miri stepped into a pile of dog shit and also her hair burst into flames. And as the squid tried to put out Miris hair with its flailing tentacles and also Miris coat, one of the buttons caught her in the eye, and Miri yelped and the squid apologized, but Miri said, that no, it was OK, she was OK, even though her scalp still smoldered and her foot smelled like shit, and she laughed a little, which helped the squid laugh a little, but mostly it still looked concerned.

She was about to say that she should probably go home now, when a flying saucer descended from the sky, just over the heads of Miri and the squid, and shot a laser at Miri, and with a POOF it dematerialized Miris clothes into dust, leaving her naked and cold,

10

and then it flew away again as though its sole mission in the universe was to ruin Miris day, and everyone on the street was looking and pointing and murmuring, which was awful but also exactly what Miri suspected people did when she walked by anyway, because she was always a mess, even when she wasnt naked and bald and dipped in dog shit.

And even though the squid didnt need to wear clothes at all, it clearly understood how uncomfortable Miri must be and offered to go buy her some clothes, and asked if she was cold, if her head hurt, and marveled at her bad luck but Miri just said she was OK over and over again, even though her chin trembled.

You dont seem OK, the squid said.

Really, Miri said. She couldnt help it, she was crying, and how embarrassing it was to cry, to cry on a date, to cry on a date with a squid. What goes around comes around, she said.

The squid gave her a confused look and asked her what she could possibly mean by that.

And Miri explained about how Ben had left her for not helping with the dishes more often, but mostly for gaining so much weight, and how she worked a stupid boring job because she had no ambition, and how she was fat because she was lazy, and how she stepped in dog shit all the time because she was careless

Maggie tokuda-HaLL 11

and graceless, and she was subject to spontaneous combustion due to her poor flossing habits, and aliens often attacked her out of the blue because she never prayed to the good Lord Jesus Christ like her mother had told her to so many times as a child, and she was weeping, weeping as she confessed the truth of her horrid karmic standing.

That is the most absurd fucking thing I have ever heard, the squid told her. No one deserves all of that just for being a human. And also, aliens are real assholes.

And the squid took Miri back to its apartment. The squid made her some tea with honey, and then rubbed aloe onto her burnt scalp, and wrapped her naked body in a warm, woolen blanket.

Are you feeling better? The squid asked, and Miri said she was. Well, the squid said. I think youre pretty OK, Miri. You handle bad luck with grace and charm, and you look good burnt and also bald, and your laugh makes me smile, even if your bad luck does not.

And Miri laughed, and told the squid that the squid was pretty OK, too, and especially kind in this moment, what with her baldness, and her nakedness, and her tears and her bad, bad luck, and how pleased and grateful she felt for that care and for that kindness.

And they didnt so much have sex as they just held

12

each other, the squids tentacles hugged tight and reassuring around Miris body, pushing the folds of her flesh into configurations that were both pleasurable and comfortable, and she was so happy for the softness of herself then, for the pliability of her body, for its heft, and fat rolling tears dripped off her chin, and she was so glad the squid was no taller or they would not fit together so gracefully, so aptly, entwined as only woman and squid can be, and it was like the opposite of punishment, it was like relief. It was relief from her constant expectation of failure and it was good, and it was warm, and in her mouth still echoed the taste of honey.

And it was exactly what she deserved.

13

J A R J I S S U B I A

ALL HAIL THE QUEEN

I learned the definition of fierce today:To allow the body to become display;An acrobat of frizzed hair,And color,And Cheetah printPushed through fishnet;This is who I am When I no longer want to be myself,When the myself that I am Looks more like green lashes and heels.This is when to vogue.You betta werkLike the stage is a hot plate And you are sizzling oil.Gurl, It takes a lot of taped up ballsTo hold down that much confidence.Serving face like you are the buffet.Slaying the whole damn crew with yourShimmy, cross over, shimmy, split, belly rollAll gazes surrendered to the hipsThat say, we are the truth.A vanity chest pried openSpilling glitter onto the stage,The most florescent shade of blood-pride.

14

And we drink teaAnd talk about how this is not drag But the most fascinating thing weve seen in all our

boyhood,And we sing hail, and we sing hail, and we sing hail.

15

A . M . M O O R M

RED IBIS

Menagerie is a word whose meaning is known but not to be trusted. When I say menagerieI see glasses of cut blue light from which no one is drinking. Your hands, which did not and do notbelong to me. Wild animals, yes, but fixed: swaddled and tarred. Things a child might play with.

In an alpine garden you crushed my mouth with a stone.I swallowed my teeth, thinking This is what must be doneto make the stones stony again. The taste of earth is nothinglike a body. Its conspicuous lack of salt. The stone wasyour mouth on my mouth. The stone was a very old word,

unspeakable. You stood close and I stood close. I watched the red ibis maneuver through the grasses. Close but not touching.

These heart-colored animals.Remember? That first day in Paris there were parades. Streets full of brown bodies and bright costumes. I followed you, for the first time, home. Love is a lurid thing. The first day we moved

quickly through the bustle. The rest was covetous crawling.

You undressed me in view of an open window, though you remained clothed. My nipples hardened under your appraisal.

16

Stories tell me theres a heart underneath.The plumage is ostentatiousbecause nature is ostentatious. The fanning of something I have felt inwardly, shyly. Scarlet wings dipped in ink.

Could the red ibis disappear, if it wanted to?

One can be everywhere if one can go unseen.We had rules about touching. One morning you taught me to fold paper cranes. Those neat creases a reprieve from skin.

A bird in the palm says stillness is a talent.

You can own a person through deprivation. Youd thinkonly dogs could hunger like that.

(By love I mean anything that plays at delicacy when it is really brutality.)

When beauty is too raw to live with, the poet can turnto aesthetics. Does my stillness take the shape of

the room or the shape of my body? Does the red ibis hateits cage? The bars keep those pale

staring people out.

I pressed my ear to your chest, listening for the thingstories have told of. I imagined the forms it might take:a stone older than words; the eggs of prehistory; a pitin the fruit from which everything comes. Upon further consideration: a flightless bird. A bruise on the bone.

17

H UM H

B M H M - S T M I S B M R MMASKED BOOBIES

From Spanish slang Bobo, meaning stupid. Because being so trusting they would land on ships at sea;

they were easily captured and eaten by sailors. But its been a long time, theyre smarter now.

The eyes corrugate yet once were sharp. Were later, looking out, were banded and eating breakfast.

A thing to cap your floppy self. To investigate all your mysteries. A big to do that wont hurt. Like going to the gym.

Your friends are exiles and they complain you dont understand you live in your office and you get one or two words

but they turn in essays damp with breath, smelling of flowers you can never name, never will.

I know Im in my forties because more people I know have cancer. So is this poem about

being smart or dying, or where have you been? Masked boobies murder their siblings.

Death death death, yeah yeah yeah. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Conspicuous and distinct. Like Im

18

twenty-five and that was all I ever wrote about,my mouth open and my chin quivering like a boobie

calling to her chick. Not as bright as I thought I was.

Masked boobies build shallow flat nests, so the larger chicks expel their smaller siblings who then die.

So when you see them youre watching murderers, when they flirt, they point at the sky

and the sky lets go. When they couple they dont see. They make love in the dark. I worry all the time. Books worn out

so much they only live in memory. Only your body belongs to me. I wont have it forever. Your thoughts rain on my head.

Despair is easy and sexy. The masked boobies do their dances and hunt. Spectacular divers, plunging diagonally into the ocean at high speed.

Maybe youre not hurt. Or its an exercise regimen and youre starting to feel sore. Stronger and sore.

Say hello to your birds. Theyll say brother, and youll look behind you. In your pockets nothing

but chains, something to sharpen on the grinding wheel before you walk to the beach.

HugH beHM-Steinberg 19

MOUSE-COLORED PENDULINE TITS

Whole are the nights we cut them into pieces, beneath nests which dangle are you ready?

Incorporating a false entrance above the true entrance which leads to a false chamber.

The true nesting chamber is accessed by the parent opening a hidden flap, entering

the poem and wondering if youre in the real poem or the fake part of your life you wonder

where the good is and then closing the flap shut again, the two sides sealing with spider webs.

Ok, in my real life Im friendly I keep handing out birds Im in love Im still in love

I never run out of birds the mouse-colored penduline tits are busy making more mouse-colored

penduline tits. Theyre such active foragers. Their long conical bills probe into cracks and

prise open holes. They sing Im the means of re-birth baby Ive got tattoos for you,

let me place one on the most secret uncorrupted part of you.

21

P M T MR B U M M M S

UNWISE

It wasnt that I got the idea to have an affair with my mentors wife. I didnt have the idea, I had

the fantasy, a different thing, practically harmless. She had the idea. Was it because she could tell

I was having the fantasy, and wanted to show me what reality looked like?

It started in a supermarket, not a setting Id ever have associated with the beginning of torrid

relations, but then again, Id had no torrid relations. We were on a grocery run for her husband.

Vegetables were needed to go with their steak and he was out of whiskey. We were very quiet,

and I was wishing I had the gift of gab, being seldom alone with her, and wanting to be able to

say a clever thing or two, make her smile. Wed just bagged some Brussels sprouts when she

grabbed my arm so hard it hurt. She looked at me very directly. I wanted her to loosen her grip

but at the same time was glad she had hold of me.

Patrick, I need a distraction in my life right now. I want us to sleep together, like next week. I

dont enjoy simply thinking about it, I hope to like

22

doing it. Its painful to admit, but her tonewas not brimming with optimism.

I dont want you taking this the wrong way, she added. I was without a way of any kind to take

it.

Her face got closer to mine.

Im creatively blockedmy husband is promiscuous; youre always around.

I could feel her breath, the intense proximity of her body. I was under a kind of erotic duress.

Oh, I said. Longer sentences felt out of reach.

Youre malleable, and I need a man wholl take direc-tions. I would take directions, that was

true. If I was going to be sleeping with my mentors wife, I would be needing directions.

I have a hunch you can provide relief, even inspira-tion, she said. I had no idea what had led her

to such a conclusion. I was wonderstruck. No woman would ever speak this way to me again, of

that I was certain.

I want us to work on a schedule. An organized approach is best, dont you think? she said.

I felt sure there was no orderly path to spending time

Peter buLLen 23

in bed with my mentors wife. Doug, herhusband was a man I admired, a man whod thrown

me a lifeline when I was down in the dumps.I was counting on him to usher me into a creative,

worthwhile life. He was a poet, and I aspiredto be one myself.

You dont sleep with that mans wife.

Im thinking once a week for about an hour and a half, depending on your skills, she said,

smiling. I didnt find the skills reference particularly funny.

It was not an option, because of what it would do to my relationship with Doug. If I lost Doug,

what would I be left with? She had not implied that she was looking to replace her husband. An

hour and a half a week was a finite period of time, and by the sounds of it, she was seeking the

intimate encounter to help with a clogged creative pipe. She was a short story writer. Perhaps

she needed to engage in bizarre and doomed activity, so she could pen edgier fiction. I stood there looking at her, sure I was about to say that although this was the most flattering proposal Id ever received, there was no way I could go along with it. I readied myself for the strong statement. It never came.

I dont want you pretending to be gallant, principled,

24

and loyal. That would be tiresome. Mostmen would jump at the chance to sleep with me.

I was struck by her clairvoyance. Loyalty and principle were key parts of the presentation I

would have made, given a little more time.

Im thinking about the Seascape Motel, the one with the big blue sign you see from the freeway.

Do you know it?

Ive seen it.

Tuesday at three works for me. Doug isnt home till five-thirty. Hes very serious about his

poetry students on that particular day, probably because hes fucking one of them.

Sarah, this is not something I can do, you must know that.

I want you to listen to me closely. We dont have a lot of time. We are not going to get into a lot

of talk. A woman, a wife, doesnt make a decision like this lightly. I want you to know Im deadly serious. Ive made up my mind. Its important for you to know, since youre involved.

I told myself I was not involved. We were just two people talking in a supermarket.

Peter buLLen 25

I cant, I said.

Give me a break. Can we be real here for a moment? How often do you expect to get an offer like this?

Never again I imagine. And of course, I would love to, but your husband means a lot to me; he

has changed my life.

I like him too Patrick, but thats neither here nor there. In any case, he stands to benefit from an

improvement in my mood. Youll be doing him a favorthink of it that way.

I did not believe that was a credible way to look at it.

I cant Sarah. It stands to destroy a relationship I cherish.

Patrick, dont be such a drama queen. Ill give you something to cherish, believe me.

She winked. I felt Id been let into a club I was in no way credentialed for. The grip I had on my

protests came loose.

And something about that wink, what I imagined it promised, broke the dam.

I believe you, I said. A woman Id found mesmeriz-ingly attractive was putting her foot down,

26

forbidding me to wiggle out of sleeping with her.

It was hard to think of as bad news.

So its a date then? she said.

It is, I replied.

Back in my apartment that evening I was jumpy as hell. I knew Id agreed to something crazy. In

a small, suicidal type way, I was glad I had.

But Doug had welcomed me into his life, told me my writing had potential. I had felt like a fullfledged

person in his company.

Now Id made a plan to sleep with his wife.

I made several trips to the bathroom, sure I was about to vomit.

The morning of our date I drank a glass of vodka, but remained terribly uneasy, the way you can be when youve had one of those lifelike dreams in which youve knocked someone off, or someone is close to knocking you off. And the police know that either youre the killer, or youre about to be killed. But it doesnt matter which, because they just cant get there in time to prevent it.

27

A M I CI A A R A S C O

BLISTER THROAT

I mouth creep to florescent gun

in constant birth

I wire the itch

fasten onto antic sky

half-stitched sun

farewell brave rib

hammer round my salt

beak, its overdue night

neck always in loop

I am the milk inside

the doorway, pallid

eyes curbing thistle

dress the worms under

my breathI knot

28

WHAT TOOK OVER

our arms pinned in prayer

discarded and uneaten

hidden in lunch sacks

as our lungs carried

newborns breeding

from mouths

gushed with static

we braced the backwoods

I opened up my coin purse

where words gave birth

howled up our ears

where mosaic blood plates

scraped each corner

of our splintered kernels

29

A MM A A

S D M R P M T M R S O S

BY CHANCE

Lets say youre walking down the street one afternoon and there, just at the corner of your vision, you spot someone you used to know. And when I say know, I mean loved. Every detail about the former self that loved that person is vivid again: where you lived together, that basement apartment next to the train station that rattled every thirty minutes, the coffee shop you used to go to on Saturday mornings, the music you listened to then, years ago now, one particular song surfacing suddenly and playing on repeat in your mind. But you dont say hello. The sidewalk traffic, swirling like an ocean eddy, opens then closes just as fast and that other person is gone again, returned to the impossible crowd of strangers. All in a matter of seconds.

This is one person out of billions on the planet, thousands in your city, hundreds on the street. Her name might still be in some of the books on your shelf because they were actually her books, but you couldnt even say which ones anymore. The randomness of the encounter might haunt you all day, possibly longer. You might go to your office and Google her name. You might calculate the odds of seeing her again,

30

change which way you walk to lunch. Or maybe you dont think about it five minutes after it happens, because why would you? It was a former life. Maybe you mention it to your best friend casually, like an interesting article you found online about something that happened to someone else. There is no correct response, only the one you have when it happens to you.

In the meantime, its more common to be hit by lightning than win the lottery, more common to be in a car accident than fall in love. Those are the odds. Your current lover was a stranger once, too, among many. And maybe she occasionally passes by someone she used to know, and by know I mean loved, or someone she will love one day in a future life. But its best not to think about that. Its better to think of life the way a passenger thinks about flying, which is to say rarely if at all. Yes, its dangerous and improbable that a mass of steel and glass can be kept aloft by unseen forces, but it happens. It happens every day.

31

S M A S T A Y M O R

WHEN YOURE CAUGHT

In the cab home, with your hair brushed back, already slip showing, you mouthed three numbers and a street name. Carrying you up a staircase built to wear us down, your heels tapped on every doorframe to say. Im not that difficult, take me home. Its your curtains laced with wind chimes that stop me. Its your windows always open on the fifth floor, and for some reason, never cold.

Youre caught, living, when you talk in your sleep. When you breathe on your back, youre caught, whistling. I caught you singing, so I stayed.

I stayed, spent, smiling. I dashed water upon your lips, and to this, you carried a note straight out the front door. I was listening. The luxury of dirty wine kept you humming, bars in bars, two part harmonies over two small blocks. In your sleep, do you sing more in the winter to keep warm, or in the summer to let out the heat? I thought I caught your thumbs drumming on your hips. I saw your big toe curl, as if wincing, when the wind came in flat. Can you hear me? Im wandering lost in your apartment when I find a note on the back of your front door that reads:

32

Hey, sometimes, I sing in my sleep, Im sorry. If you hear it can you please push record. There is a tape deck on my bedside table.

So I did, and I caught the three a.m. foghorns, the metronome of my wristwatch, and the sporadic stomp of your upstairs neighbors. As soon as that click came in, as soon as that tape started recording, you stopped singing. Your subconscious must have stage fright, because you went quietly into what was left of the night.

In the morning I woke to you asking, as you played the tape back, Did I sing? You did press record? You stammered. You were the voice of wonder, as that rewound sound kept feathering the air, like a broken time machine. Hardly awake enough to break a strangers heart, I said, instead, Im sorry, Im a pretty deep sleeper.

33

T I M D O S S M M M Y

APOSTROPHE

I was doing this cleansing juice fast returning from mailing and picking up packages when the Marilyn poster on the door to my apartment made a kind of snorting sound hallucinations great but what did that sound remind me of

twas the weekend before Christmas Tony came to me looking like he did near the end face a skull picking absently at a yellow crust on his lips and rolling it into a ball

Doesnt feel so nice does it do you still grudge me the cigarette burns when food tastes like sandpaper and snot

34

No Tony I miss you

Liar you wrote a poem about it

Thats just the metaphor its about how I wanted to heal you

Cut it he said and with a fabulous slice of the wrist became Vintage Tony bowery boy cap television hair in steam pressed houndstooth gabardine boldly wearing belt and suspenders because hes checked the period fashion magazines and thats how they did it

Wow Tony you look hot

he closed his eyes like a purring cat raised a clove cigarette to his perfect again face

Remember when we exchanged powers way back in the 80s I mean I guess it took hunh you learned how to keep a job and I how to keep a man

So are you happy over there

tiM donneLLy 35

Its okay the parties arent as much fun as they used to be

he leaned in then

You want to know whatMiguelito is up to these days

Gee Im pretty sure I dont Tony

Fucken right you dont but on that note I wanted to tell you its time you settled down you know and seeing how youre all alone

he rolled his eyes

On a saturday night you will be visited by three ex boyfriends

Holy shit you mean like dead ones

I dont think you have three dead ones you always were a lucky prick arrogant too I like that in a fag

Good god Tony you dont mean tonight with the place looking like this and me looking like this

36

he threw back his head for the evil villain laugh Mwah ha ha ha ha but as he faded he said April fools

See ya Tony I said to my apartment

37

C HR I S T

O P H M R D I S O S

MISMATCHED SHOES

When Katherine looked from over her book and saw that familiar pair of mismatched shoes, she remembered all the things she wanted. She wanted an escape route lined with orange traffic cones. She wanted a fortune teller with a crystal ball and authentic psychic powers. If she couldnt have Doc Browns flying DeLorean, then an average portal to an alternate dimension would do. More than anything, she wanted to not think about what came next.

It was like driving with a cop car tailing close behind. She measured him up while he scratched the back of his head. He was choosing his words and she could see the careful seconds he counted out over the top of his head. One-one-thousand. Two-one-thousand. Three-one-thousand.

Hey, he said.

Hey, she said.

She stared at him for a moment without saying anything. Her palms were moist and she couldnt stop fidgeting. Without realizing it, she rolled the

38

paperback book into a cylinder and bent the cover in awkward creases. She had no pockets and didnt know where to put her hands.

How are you? she asked.

Im good.

She watched as he wiggled the heel of his right foot around. His shoe was untied.

And you? he asked.

Im okay. Theres just so much to think about.

Yeah. He paused. You dyed your hair, he said.

Yeah. I thought Id try black. Do you like it?

Its nice. My favorite look was blue, but it doesnt matter. Every color suits you.

He scratched his neck. She took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. A tall silence crept in and took a seat in front of them. His knees were two crumpled balls of paper. The gaps of her pants showed skin that looked just as pale. The two of them had worn their denims down to holes at the knees. They even had on the same brand of shoes, except Katherines feet matched.

CHriStoPHer dizon 39

Its on the wrong hand, you know. She watched him cross his arms. Its supposed to be on the left, he said.

She twisted the metal band around her finger.

I know. Im just not used to walking around with it. I figure Id wear it on my right for now. Its like practice.

She watched him smile. It was a toothless grin. From underneath those lips she could see his chipped tooth. She remembered his real smiles and how that missing piece of bone forced anyone that looked at him to take him less seriously.

Are you excited about moving?

Im nervous. She was still clutching the book and wringing it like a wet towel. The book was new, but the cover was ruined. Its all just so scary.

He took the novel out of her hand and placed it on the table. On the cover was a blue mirage of a woman in the night sky. There were red lips in the center of the cover with bright lights underneath. He took a seat across from her in the empty chair. It was an old copy of The Great Gatsby.

Think of it as an adventure. New place, new people, new everything, he said.

I havent even left and I already feel homesick.

40

The parking lot was fuller now. She watched the front of the caf while a woman struggled to get into the door. She was opening the door first so that the she could push in the stroller, but the large bags that hung from her arms made it hard to maneuver. The boy with the mismatched shoes ran over to help her out. While Katherine watched him come back, she stared at his shoes. The right foot was yellow and the left was green. They were a dirty mismatched pair of high top converse all stars. She cared nothing of the As or baseball, but those two colors grew on her. She liked the way they looked next to each other.

Itll be epic, Kath. In a few weeks you wont even think about this place. You wont even miss it.

Youre just being nice.

I am nice. He flashed a genuine smile. She could see his chipped tooth. Except nothing was missing and his smile was perfect. People walked past them and through the door. The afternoon crowd was coming in for their caffeine fix. Katherine bent down to tie his shoe. He didnt say thank you, but she didnt mind.

Are you guys done here? It was the woman with the baby and the overstuffed bags.

She said yes at the same time that he said no.

Were just finishing up.

CHriStoPHer dizon 41

She didnt hug him when she left the caf. Katherine tried her best not to look back and see if he was watching her. She heard footsteps but when she turned around no one was there.

43

D AS I

M M R I D D M M R O D R I M U M S

Or at least thats what he says, your pop, mornings when you find him dawdle walking around the kitchen, dazzle-eyed and tart with the smell of Morgan. I was inside the bottle this time, hed say. And Mom twists her face, slams their bedroom door.

Pop becomes a different man when he gets inside the bottle. He disappears himself. A little scotch and soda water, hes a brand new guy. Mom is onto his act though, says its not that new. You can see for yourself, she says. God I know I gave you eyes.

The new guy is taller than Pop (You can see for yourself.). He wears cotton tank tops and flexes his arms when he talks. Hes a smoker, too, and hours after hes left the living room you can still smell the air of him. The way a spent match takes over your coat pocket, some stale thing that settles into the fibers. And look at how he eats, Mom says, pointing with her fork across the table. The new guy chomping pizza. Cheese looping from his mouth, thick and white as spit on a bulldog. Hes a problem, she says, stabbing her plate. A big one.

SOMETIMES POP IS INSIDEOF THE BOTTLE; SOMETIMESTHE BOTTLE IS INSIDE OF POP

44

It used to be Pop worked a dry week and only brought out the new guy on off-days. Sundays mostly. It worked like this: Pop got inside of the bottle and New Guy got out. He used to jump up and down, pumping his fists whenever the Raiders took over. New Guy yelled at the screen, cursed refs. Fucking Magoos, all of them, hed say. When they scored, he did a little Juba dance in the living room before spiking the remote, sending broken pieces of plastic everywhere. And Mom would slam their door, then, same as she does now, but gently gently. Soft because she knew, come morning, Pop would be on his hands and knees, picking plastic out the carpet fibers, a white-flag look on his face and eye-owe-you in his mouth. This was when he was still working the Frito-Lay factory at the foot of Grant Avenue. Back then hed stuff Hefty bags full of potato chips and shoulder the goods like a velvet sack, and youd get fat on chips till the salt split your tongue. Then all of a sudden hes laid off and spending more and more time climbing into the bottle, practicing his magic trick. The only chips he shoulders these days are proverbial.

This is what you know: New Guy speaks in quids and pro quos but does not like ultimatums. You know this because he says so. All the time. He says so in church when he skips the wafer line to abuse the Eucharist cup, streaks of burgundy in his beard. He says so at the supermarket, full basket in the check-out line and the card aint cutting it. Run it again, New Guy tells the clerk, winking at her like God didnt give Mom eyes.

danieL riddLe rodriguez 45

Third times the charm, right? And when Mom drops a stack of bills onto his lap like an anvil, her face all what the fuck? New Guy is out the door without a worda skinny sweaty man, shadow getting long.

Sometimes Pop defends the new guy. He tries to play at devils advocate. Let go and let God, he tells us. I mean, it is what it is, right? And then he goes on about the new guy isnt so bad, after all; how if you only knew what it was like being a new guy; how difficult it is to catch a break with those wrists of his, thin as they are; to shoulder the world with arms so small. Cut the guy some slack, Pop says. Atlas gotta shrug sometime, right?

New Guy shrugged off another job search today so he could stand in the doorway and pick paint chips off the lintel, drop them onto the kitchen floor. Mom is at the stove, putting matchsticks to the pilot light. Sauntering up, New Guy palms her bathrobe pockets from behind, pulling her into his crotch and holding her there till she squirms free. Ive got the gas on, Mom says in a voice like she means it this timea snapped string on a guitar. You want to blow us up? She cocks her arm and throws the box of matches at New Guy, hitting him square in the mouth. And then its like everything in the kitchen stops to see what hes going to do, except he isnt doing anything but staring at the floor as if hes counting up the matches. Mom cocks her head like she wants something from him that he doesnt have. And now, seeing he doesnt have it, she

46

walks out the room, leaving New Guy behind. Alone. Standing there like some lone General, surveying land shelled to rubble on his order, and what he surveyed he didnt like. And for a moment you can see Pop again, a flash in the face, some gathered force quaking in the eyebrows. Behind the eyes, a man tied to a chair, gagged stupid and bleeding. He opens the freezer door, snags a bottle from the iceboxbrown liquor, swashbuckler on the labeland brings it to his lips.

Abracadabra, Pop says, disappearing.

47

P A TR I C I A C A S P M R S

SUGAR SAYS

Your mind is a rusted maze of junkyard castaways, your tongue a lazy Rottweiler on a chain.

No one will love you like I do.

Whos going to cast a line into the heavens, let it sink into nights deep pools, reel in constellations star by glittering starand offer them to you in a bright birch basket?

No matter, it will never be enough.

Listen stupid girl, one more mouthful and its time. The closed sign is written in your own red calligraphy. Put it in the shop window now.

All of those cicadas you heard at twilight, they never were calling your name.

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