In Between

Now, the pillows are crumpled, 

sheets crushed at the foot of the bed, 

clothes scattered across the room; 

the mattress rests over the side of the frame, 

and we lay entwined in glorious silence
as she dreams of something else to do.

 
Her checkered flannel and denim

will soon be on again, 

and she will be off somewhere:

the salon, the supermarket, a girlfriend's sofa.

"Do you want to come?" she will ask, 

and I will decline without the sting of guilt
so present in the early days of our courtship
when she wore the shame of her father's absence
and I carried the burden of her self-reproach. 

Then I was arrogant enough to believe 

my love could heal her wounds, 

that form can be shaped from raw desire,

like willing a volcano not to erupt. 

Even when she bloodied my face, 

daring me to leave, the tremor in her eyes 

could not pierce my resolve.

Wait for the eyes to soften, I told myself,

and sure as the earth's crust heats and cools again,

they would.  

Hours, days later, after much shouting 

and tearful apology, the good times would return

and we would collide again on that old mattress.

We poured ourselves down through

the synthetic fibers and failing box springs,

then abandoned them with all we hoped to unmake

for another foolhardy revolt against

the mighty forces that divide man and woman.

Now, we operate in this in-between state.

The relationship is transactional, uncomplicated.

We don't make a mess of things.

While we wait for what's next

there is time for other pursuits.

There's time for silence.

For this.

**First published in Beyond Words Literary Magazine

**Illustration by Morgane Xenos

Taurus Turns Thirty (Libra Relents)

Seated alone on the couch, weary from the day's labor,

full of hard drink and a heavy meal, he was content this
birthday affair may pass without incident.

A bottle of twenty-five-year Scotch adorned his lap.  

He made certain she saw him swallow the sleeping pill she

insisted he withhold until after the party.

He told her he did not want a party, yet she persisted

on account of the supermoon conjoining with Venus

and Mercury being no longer in retrograde.

Nonsense, he muttered, as a tranquil haze washed over him.

The band was warming up out back and guests were arriving

when the initial assault was launched.

He advance was clumsy and ill-planned.
He stirred upon approach, stiff-arming her to the ground.  

A subsequent attempt succeeded with a flanking maneuver

that sent his bottle to the hardwood floor.
"Don't break that bottle!" she shouted.  "That's my favorite bottle!"  

He swept her shins and they tumbled about the room,

laughing and cursing each other.  They tumbled into some guests, 

spilling their drinks.  The guests did not approve.
She retreated to the kitchen.  He meandered into the yard 

with a fresh glass of whiskey.  "Thanks for coming," he said to

the new arrivals, then stretched onto the cool lawn grass

and gazed upward to the heavens.

He spied the constellation Taurus in the north sky,

invited a blessing of good health and a sign of his longevity.

He awaited the sign as the whiskey-sleeping-pill cocktail took hold.

His eyes grew heavy as coins when a shout was heard 

from the house:  "Don't break that glass!  That's my favorite glass!".

Taurus leapt to his feet and smashed the glass against the sidewalk.

An anxious silence befell the partygoers as Libra emerged

onto the patio.  She declared she would bust his head,

then pounced like a wildcat, kicking and clawing at him.

She bit his ear.  He yanked her hair.  She pushed him into the dirt,

him pulling her down and working her into a chokehold

until she relented.

Taurus relaxed his grip, and they sank into the earth gasping for air.

A passerby stopped to inquire if there was a fight.

"It's hard to tell sometimes," he heard someone say.

She heard it too, then climbed atop him, cheerful and triumphant,

glowing like a banshee in the April moonlight.

"You obstinate son of a bitch," she exhaled, then collapsed in a heap.

And he held her awhile like that, until the cicadas quieted their

evening symphony, the earth rotated eastward to Gemini,

and their breathing fell once again into synchronous rhythm.

**First published in WildSound Writing Festival anthology

Flirting

As far as

she is concerned,

the difference

between

my flirting

with an

attractive woman

and merely conversing

with one

lies in whether

or not

I am

enjoying

myself.