Many Lives Remembered

I remember all my past lives when I wish
though I do not wish it often. Echoes of
previous lives dot my days, a familiar
smell, a particular flower coming into
view, that sometimes I find it hardly
believable that I am able to accomplish
anything. Births, deaths, all come in and
out of view along with faded heartache
that is dull to the touch. Born again for
how many times now? I have forgotten
how many times I have come and gone
but I will continue on until at last I have
been unchained from the wheel of life.
What comes then? Freedom? Wisdom?
Enlightenment? Omniscience? I suppose
it doesn't really matter. To move beyond
and into that which is unknowable.

Past Lives/Present Fictions

Every life

will become

a past life.

She Is Not Your Wife

Faded pictures were scattered across the coffee table,

years and places reordered according to no chronology.

The half-empty glass was mostly filled with melting ice

that had diluted the brown liquor, the ashtray next to it

had not been emptied in days. He finished using the rest

room, flushed. He threw the old girlie magazine onto 

the couch, a few pictures blew off the table and landed

soundlessly onto the carpet, he didn't bother to pick them 

up. His back ached as he reached for the glass, his left 

hand shook a little. It used to worry him when it first

happened, now, he tried not to think about it. He poured

liquor to the brim of the tumbler before setting the bottle 

on the counter by the refrigerator. The couch was soft 

and yielding as he sat down, for a moment, it seemed 

to sigh. He dumped a shoebox full of pictures last night

after coming home from the tavern, he had been there

since he had left work. In the light he could see years 

spread across like confetti spilled out of a broken pinata

at a child's birthday party. There was a kind face that 

looked out from many of the pictures, an earnest smile,

eyes that spoke with precise clarity of heart. Children

were beginning to walk home from school, he could 

hear them outside. He locked eyes with a picture of her

at the beach, he could no longer hear the children.

     

hauntings

your voice 

is a murmured memory

crept into my dreams-


disconnected of body,

ethereal presence 

are the remains 


I carry of you. 

Past Life Marathon

Wanting

The last I heard about L was that she was married and had a
small child after moving back to her home state. We had worked
together for a few years and had gotten to know each other fairly
well in that time. I always thought she was beautiful. She had a
southern accent that was charming every time she spoke. It only
added to her beauty.  We hadn't seen each other since she had
moved. Thinking about her filled me a sense of regret over what
had never been.

 ***

She was lying face down in my bed, the sun was streaming in a muted
tone through the white curtains at my window. She kicked her legs up
and turned her head as I walked in through the door. She smiled.
I did a double take when I realized who it was.

"What are you doing hear?" I said.

"I thought I'd come visit you for a little bit." she said as the corners of
her mouth turned upward.

"How did you find out where I was living?"

"It wasn't too hard. I really wanted to surprise you."

"Where are you staying at while you're here?" I said.

Her smile widened to show the white of her teeth.

"I figured I'd stay with you since you have a bed and all. That is if
you don't mind, of course."

"I don't."

"Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come over?"
I hadn't moved since I froze in place at finding her. I walked over
to the bed and took my coat off and placed it on the chair of my
desk. I took off my shoes and set them near the edge of the bed.
She moved her body from the center of the bed to make room for
me. I got into the bed and laid on my back. She rolled on top of
me and said "I've missed you."

She held me close. Our noses were about to touch.

"I've missed you too," I said.

Garden Flower (part 1, draft 1)

Bettie used to live next to live door to us. She passed away almost a year ago.
As far as any of us knew she wasn't married and didn't have any children. I 
don't really recall seeing many people visiting her either. Oftentimes I
would see her in the front yard tending to her small garden. She seemed to 
take special care of the chrysanthemums she had. I never really saw the 
attraction to that flower but she loved them. In the years that we lived next 
to each other, we rarely spoke. The times we did speak tended to overshadow 
the long stretches of silence between us. The first time I saw her was a week
or two after I moved in. As I was walking to the front door I saw her tending
to her flowers. I decided to introduce myself and walked over to her. I introduced
myself and she extended her gloved hand and said her name. We exchanged 
basic information and made polite chit-chat. As I looked at her, I could see that
she had been marvelously beautiful when she was younger. Her eyes were
deep brown pools tinged with hints of hard won understanding. They also spoke
of the kind of hardship that those of the older generation find it better to hold
inside like a precious stone. I couldn't help but wonder what led her here. 
It would be another year or so before we would speak again. 

These are not the names we had 


from when we've known each 


other before.