There are nights when I lie awake, terrified for what the future might hold. Tomorrow is a gremlin crouching in dark
Corners, his fingers wrapped around all the possibilities. There are madmen in charge of our security: liars and mobsters and
Thieves, that some hailed as saviors. But now, those of us who’ve studied history know we’ve crossed lines that may
Never be uncrossed. Who will save us from the gremlin? Who will pry his bony digits from our lives? Only we can save ourselves.
I never cared for endings, the final breaths of dying embers, glowing stubbornly, banked against the coldest
Night. Beginnings, though, bright promises of better days, slipping through the grates, landing on my doorstep,
With a grand thud. Extra! Extra! Dream all about it. Wrap a ribbon around the past. Cap it off with a shot of tequila.
We age, first in slow-motion, will we ever ride a bike, drive a car, kiss a guy, marry well, bear children?
Then in a blur of wrinkles and gray hair,
Burgeoning numbers of bad cholesterol
Measured in blood tests,
Weighed against stress tests, when we thought our testing days were done. The numbers now matter
More than did our percentages on history tests and English exams. We only thought those were matters of life and death.
I watched the news, the pictures of a man climbing El Capitan alone. A solo feat, no wires, no safety net,
Only chalk and hands, feet and guts. I struggle climbing stairs. I’ve fallen on level surfaces, tripping on my
Own shoelaces, or worse yet, over nothing at all. I’ll drink a toast to the man and his mountain, and ask for help getting to bed.
It’s a really long walk, and the tiles are slippery.
There is a gargoyle living in my gut. His gruesome stone snarl scraping against my colon. The heartburn never ends.
He must have moved in as a pebble, a tiny worry about what could be, and every minute since that shitty November day he’s
Grown more abrasive, more corrosive, taking up too many centimeters of my being. He spits acid from a contorted tongue,
Searing the lining of my duodenum, creating blisters that won’t soon heal. Resistance hurts, but acquiescence kills.
No destination in mind, I was free to choose. Flip a coin, left or right, or perhaps bear straight ahead where a
Canopied road beckons, shadow-stippled, playing footsie with the sun. No artist painted this. Slow down,
Patterns shift with the slightest whisper of wind. Blink, and the world has changed already. Dark to light and back
Again. A forest green turtle ventures a crossing. Hurry, little guy, not all who travel here will care if you safely reach your
Destination. He ignores my wave, but soldiers on, tiptoeing persistently across this canopied road. His choice matters, too.
Days Off by Leslie Noyes
I gave my characters the weekend off. The beggars were complaining that I was working them too hard; that the
Hours were too long and the pay too cheap. I swear, I’d fire them all if I could. Except for the smart ass who keeps
Coming up with all the witty lines. I swear, he makes me laugh even when I’m trying my level best to be serious.
He has a mind of his own. How can that be? Isn’t he a figment of my imagination? A golden boy with a quick wit
That I can’t control. I hate to play favorites, yet there’s no denying this guy is stringing me along. Too much time invested in him now.
I Wish You Could Have Known This Day by Leslie Noyes
I wish you could have known this day, green life yearning up through the earth, bright warmth bearing
Down from the sky. The warning screech of a protective mother guarding her threatened nest
Upstaging a chorus of cicadas running through their limited range of vocal exercises. A pair of
Cardinals flirting outrageously, too caught up in their dance to worry about me. How I wish you were here.
We talk about how much you’d have loved this place. I can picture you scolding the squirrels, even as
You throw tidbits of your breakfast to them. You’d have sat on the porch, smoking and chatting up the
Neighbors. You remembered first names.
If I stood right now, hefted myself up from a leather chair in a crowded Starbucks,
would the silly young
Couple speaking enthusiastically of things better left for more private places notice if I fell flat on my
Face after taking three steps, slipping in a carelessly ignored puddle of some iced coffee drink? Likely they’d laugh
Before talking even more loudly about who had drunk texted him saying he was hot and who had been too fucked up
Last night and needed a ride home. They are either oblivious to their audience or fishing for a bigger one.
Color Blind by Leslie Noyes
I once professed to color blindness, black, white, red, brown, all people looked the same, I claimed,
But the skin and its store of melanin or lack thereof does not a person make. No, color is bone deep,
Soul drenched, and we are different in beautifully messy ways. Better to be color aware than color
Blind. Better to celebrate the tints and tinges of pigments than to ignore our unique differences.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 