All posts tagged: words

Muted Lavender

Words and Photo by A.A. Reinecke  The sucked dry half of a lemon stood atop a saucer, posing as an inverted rose. The other half was raised to the lips of a brunette. Outside, through the window, the yard was snowed; the oaks sat proud in their age, the previous day’s snowman lounged beside the hedges. Town’s outline—pointed roofs and chimney smoke—was visible from the whited lawn. Beyond the waltzing smell of fire was the Hudson spread at the foot of town, deep gray polished like glass with the weather. Speckled lights of steamers hummed down the way and a fearless sail boat inched along the shoreline. Emmeline and Ryan Corrigan, the former the brunette sucking the lemon rose, stood in the front foyer of a very clean, large, white house, which out front bore the revival columns of Rome set down in New England. The girls were a panoply of browns and grays in cashmere stockings, pullovers, wool coats. Ryan tugged at her corduroy skirt and then at her hair. “Know Ryan saw them,” …

Mitternacht Walk

There’s a time of day, where reason and rational erodes in the tired mind. When the night sky begins to take on that slight hue of blue light. When the miasma of the unconscious surfaces and lets loose hope and desire. The witching hour.   These are six images I have taken, all during the night. They are the ramblings and thoughts that I have had, in places or things I see everyday. Thoughts, mental mumblings in a state of solitude — during mitternacht, midnight.     when my mother is asleep and the dog is at bay through my window I’ll climb Into the yellow moth light of the street lamp I’ll climb Portraits of people hung on houses Families eating Couples fighting A lone man Blue light dancing across his lone face What pleasure! That I can see into the hearts of the estranged empty faces passing — constantly How I can see, but they can’t I  

not a bush: words from rachana hegde

half life you step on the bus smelling like chlorine eyes bright, prickling with tears; all those late nights are catching up to you, swallowing your sanity whole; i watch you call your mother words blurring together – (& this might be a memory but) i remember: the shape of your hands on the windowsill pressing hope into the tip of a pencil scratching out a different dream from the one your father screamed fingers clenched around the door-handle of your room; when you sit down next to me, you carry the weight of unshed tears – two phone calls later you’re clawing at your wrists muttering about mistakes & consequences & i grow tired of watching you draw blood from a body that deserves better – (you deserve better) – than a half life filled to the brim with: school / swimming / school / swimming “this is how we become tragedies (statistics)” I tell you but there is an exam next week & you want to start studying. *  *  * Metamorphosis I …