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22. Featuring: Jack Henry (USA)

Including:

Joanne Ashcroft; St Helens, UK + Cristogianni Borsella; NY, USA + Chris Brownsword; Dronfield, Derbyshire, UK + Cyndi Dawson; NJ, USA + Zoe Fiander; London, UK + Jesse Freeman; New Orleans, USA + Oritsegbemi E. Jakpa; Waterford, Ireland + Tom Noe; Indiana, USA +Joseph Veronneau; Vermont, USA

digging through ashes

1.
we met at gas station
off Interstate 5
just outside Modesto, California
on a day filled with heat, dust
and a wind that gave no quarter
in a relentless pursuit
of total annihilation -

out of gas, no cash
her smile stopped me mid-stride
and i said,
hello -

we bantered a bit
as i filled the tank
of a brokedown red Honda Civic
with premium unleaded gasoline -

2.
at 6 pm i found myself
at a truck stop
parked between SUVs
and Mini Vans -

footsteps crunched across gravel -
front door swings wide -
a waitress shaped like an inverted pomegranate
showed me to a table
up against the glass -
truckers in John Deere caps drank coffee
at the counter -

she walked by
suddenly
and i said,
hello
she slide in across from me
and asked my name -

3.
a short waitress with large feet
and simple features took our order -

4.
my name’s Christa,
she said
and ate her meal
without another word -

with the table cleared
we fell
into conversation -
 
usual topics -
- music
- love
- and sex

i paid the bill,
wished her good luck
stopped mid-stride
when she smiled at me -

5.
an old man at the counter
of the Easy Eight motel
looked at Christa
then at me
and took my cash without question -

we kept the room dark -
opened a new bottle of Jack Daniel’s -
turned the TV to the evening news -

6.
i asked her age -
she told me to guess -
i said nothing and took off my pants -

Christa took a hit straight
from the bottle
and i laughed -

7.
i crawled from my hiding deep
under thin bed sheets,
as my tongue traced circles

and trapezoids on her breasts -
she pushed my head down,
back past her stomach,
past a thin patch of soft hair -

you’re not done yet,
she said

8.
i stood at the window,
watched a highway
still buzzing with life
at three am -
steam poured from the bathroom,
fogging mirrors -

Christa walked to me,
wrapped her arms around my
thick body -

how old are you?
i said

i think you know,
she said

9.
windows down
her hair whipped by wind
Christa smiled at me -

i touched her skin
and said something stupid -

her hooded eyes
glared for a moment
but fell placid once again -

we passed an old red Honda Civic -
suddenly unwanted and forgotten -
everything she owned in the trunk
of my car -

dope on a table

a friend offered me
that which i sought
semantics weighed heavy
but a knife cuts quick

what do i seek, i said
we already discussed this, she said
 i do not recall, i said

of course not

she cut four fat lines
methamphetamine
atop a beaten end table
early 70s garbage dump couture

you are not what i expected, she said
it’s your fault for having expectations, i said

she watched me inhale each line
without pause or hesitation
i barely offered to share
i am sure i didn’t offer at all

she had addictions as well
not speed
not like me
not a tweaker
a gutter level addiction
without the heroin glamour
the crack head humor
prescription forgiveness
she never really explained
i didn’t ask
i didn’t care
she had dope on the table
what else could i need?

with each tilt of an ocean

rumor has it there is a sun behind gray clouds,
up in a lazy sky, past rain that turns to snow -

with so much gray, so much cold,
and gardens filled with sleeping flowers,
promises of a sun become fairytale,
or something so distance
yearning fingers could never touch -

at the counter of a coffeeshop,
where i sometimes go,
old men talk about long gray days,
malignant black nights,
a cold that lingers to the cusp of summer’s eve

and a sudden sun that finally carves through
concrete walls, arriving unannounced,
unexpected, but always before dinner -

she sits at a table deep in the mire -
chains wrap tight -
locks clasp and rust shut -
a long thin key sits a fraction of a breath from
her hand -
with each tilt of an ocean,
2000 miles away -
the long thin key
tumbles closer -