Time Travel

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When time erupts and propels people out of their home, onto the street and towards the day, it is quiet at first. It always is. But this particular type of silence only happens when the day is fresh and still moist.

From the moment I hear the first alarm session, the waiting begins;. I wait for the snooze to end, I wait for the water to heat up, and if I have time, I wait for the coffee pot to fill. Somehow, I am sure part of me is waiting for the other part to start the walk towards the strip that collects people waiting to start their day.

My sluggish approach towards the platform makes the el’s arrival seem just as apathetic. Once we step in, the control we hold over the placement of our bodies is relinquished. We’re off. The race has begun. Luckily, I find a seat that faces a window three fourths full of the pale morning sky. Seconds pass and my portal to the outside air becomes blocked by the latest arrivals. The bodies and bags swell up the space that once surrounded me.

I close my eyes and I remove myself. In that moment of containment, where stagnant bodies wait for their doors to open, a silence is heard that cannot be found anywhere else. The isolation felt by being alone among others is comforted by the collective contentment for the mourning commute.

People begin to converse and the quiet illusion is gone.

Love, Like Chicken Pox

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Love, like chicken pox, is an aliment that takes over your entire body. One may argue that chicken pox is more external, but when you are in love, it shows all over. Just like chicken pox, love can be beneficial to experience at an earlier age. This is because of the accompanying side affect, heartache. Heartache starts in the pit of your stomach, and if you experience it late in adulthood, it can be difficult to overcome. At least in youth, you will have learned by the best way possible, the hard way. If you catch it again and realize your susceptibility, you should begin to see a pattern emerge. Warning signs will be apparent, and you can tread lightly or submerge.

Stage Re-Directions

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never say thy youth was wasted
once more, love, before you enchanted I stand
moon rising on the horizon

pages through a book until she finds a place
looks out at the lake, sings in a low bass
just after sunset
in the shade of an old linden tree
sounds of pleading
a little too loudly

returning from a walk
exchanges are hidden,
with contained emotion
as if talking to a child
starting out slowly, dragging foot slightly
“That’s just the way people are.”

glancing in the direction
at a moment toward the dock
carrying his fishing rods and basket
wheeling Sorin off
pushing an empty impulse
glowing points begin to move
calls from inside appear at the window
flower beds, it is noon
makes a fist and holds out her hand
before going in the house
a pair of French parlor furniture

the stage is empty
offstage, farewell sounds
the usual collection of semidarkness

written from stage directions from The Seagull by Anton Chekhov