Unreliable Narrator

There isn't a story to tell
It's simple and boring
But I'll tell it if you want

I don't remember how we met
It seems as though we've always
known each other

How can memory be so unreliable
How can my narrative be so
skewed and filled with holes

I told you there isn't a story to tell
Just patchwork bits of words
edging together just close enough

to make a semblance of order
I've let so many days pass
And now another is upon me

There isn't a story to tell
You're here with me for now
Ready to listen if I'm ready to speak

Bodies of Water

She had to laugh the day the power
went out at the house-
the next morning she found
a possum that had drowned
in their backyard swimming pool.
Before she found the possum
dead in the pool
she spent the night
placing candles all over the house.
She lit them one by one
with the same electric lighter
he would use to light the grill
during the summer. He hadn't
been coming home
at his usual hour, said he had
to work late,
she believed it
until the day the phone rang
at the house
and a woman's voice said
she needed to come clean.
There was no point in making
a scene over all of it,
at least that's what she told herself.
When the candles were all lit
she walked into the front yard
and admired the glow
of genuine warmth
radiating from the windows
as if the house had been turned
into a massive jack-o-lantern.
When she went inside
she wondered about what night
must have been like
in past centuries,
how foreboding distant sounds
and rustlings must have been
in a world more callous than our own.
She went upstairs, changed,
and waited for him to come.
Her eyes began to tire,
her mind began to close up shop.
She began to remember
going to the beach with her father
when she was a child.
she remembered the first time
she saw the vast and terrible expanse
as they stood there on the sand.
She held his hand as tightly
as her small fingers would allow.
"This is only the edge of the ocean,
the water goes on and on
for many, many miles.
There are people
on the other side of the ocean
who are different than us,
who speak a different language
but we are joined by the same water,"
he said. She understood as best
she could at that time.
How insignificant she felt
at that time
when confronted
with the scale of ourselves
against our home. On the edge
of the horizon
she could have sworn she
saw a seagull fall from the sky.
The candles had all gone out
when she woke. She turned
the tv on just to see if the power
was back, it flicked to life
and she quickly turned it back off.
 A fine mist covered the neighborhood
as she stepped into the yard
to grab the morning paper.
His car was nowhere to be seen.
She went into the kitchen
and put on a pot of coffee
so she could drink
while reading the news.
She grabbed a clean mug
from the rack by the sink
and looked out the window,
something was floating in the pool
near the edge. She stood there
staring at the dead creature
and its furless tail. She went inside
and had her coffee,
read her newspaper.
When she was done she went upstairs
and began to pack a couple of bags
of clothes and other small possessions.
She placed them in her car
and went to the backyard.
It was still floating there like a flesh
and furred cork. She crouched
and grabbed it by the tail and pulled it
out of the water. She held it in air
until most of the water had finished dripping
from its body. She walked upstairs
and placed it in the middle of the bed.
She pulled out a pen and paper
from the nightstand and jotted
something down. She placed
the note next to the new guest.
She went downstairs and through
the front door without bothering to lock it.
She put the car in gear and backed out,
looking both ways to make sure
there was no oncoming traffic.

As She Wakes

A pale arm emerges from the sheets,
the fist stretches its fingers and reaches for air.
She pulls the sheet off her body
revealing skin like freckled porcelain.
The cold morning has left
her nipples to point the way forward.
Her eyes scan the room
and find a pair of boxer shorts
and a t-shirt too large
for her frame. She pulls
the shorts on, and soon
the t-shirt drapes over her chest.
Her bare feet step quietly into the kitchen.
The dishes have piled up. Empty glasses:
pints, tumblers and shots
are scattered all over the counter
and the cluttered dining room table.
The broken body of an empty fifth sits dead
at the base of one of the table legs.
Sunlight reflects off shards of irregular prisms.
She approaches and backs away
and towards the fridge. Inside
the fridge she looks for her iced coffee
from yesterday morning. Looking over
to the trash, it sits on top.
Another victim of last night.
A smoke, she needs a smoke.
She finds her purse and opens
the pack of cigarettes.
Only two left.
She looks for her lighter,
it too has gone the way of the iced coffee.
There are matches in the bathroom she remembers.
She strikes the match against the box
and brings it towards her face. She takes a drag
and lets it fill her lungs.
She steps out her apartment door
and finds most of the parking spaces
downstairs to be free.
It must be morning she thinks.
She can hear the faint sound of street traffic.
The cigarette smoke floats and dissipates.
She leans against the rail, wondering.

Constructing Narrative

Create your own narrative

or be subject to those

of others.