Stray Writings

(XXIII)

My friend told me she liked my writing but is looking forward to when I write something positive.

How’s this:
Tonight the air barely moved. Hot, blue sky with jet stream highlights. I ate watermelon, cucumbers, popcorn; I watched my new friend dip a chip in salsa and spread a jelly across bread. The buildings rose up high, trying to be noticed. I looked at each window and saw a reflecting mess goddess. Lips pursed, eyes closed, a shadow just over her chin. Her freckles dance on her cheeks; they are switching places and confounding the mapmakers.
For once, I was not in love…I was just alive. I was me. Calm and leaning back on my left elbow, feeling the sun march down my face and come to parade rest. Look at that form. When you look away, the sun does a two step.
Coming out of the tunnel, these streets whisper up to me: it’s ok, even when we are crammed with trash and rush hour and the stink of loss, it’s ok. We have arms that reach up and wrap around you, embrace you and set you back down in a new world. This city is more than a collection of my staccato memories; it is the sun falling behind the buildings as I lean back on the plaid blanket and stare up at the sky and swear, just so, the I can see past that blue, inside of that blue. Out of the corner of my eye, the moon takes the sun’s outstretched hand and begins to find the rhythm.
Kevin Crispin

What do you think is up to my right in the picture? A cob web? Probably a cob web. Or maybe it’s my Beatles records on top of my air conditioner. It’s certainly not fresh, new wainscoting.


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