Desperation

She sits on the couch, watches the fish swim round the bowl.
The bird caged and in the corner makes another of its kissing sounds.
She doesn't really see the fish, she sees through them. The bird
just one of the very few sounds in the house.
Getting up she shuffles to the kitchen for yet another glass of
water. Her thirst unquenchable, has been for weeks now. Back to the
couch. Lighting a cigarette she looks closely around the room.
Dares herself to find something different...something of worth.
With emptiness she sees nothing she has not seen yesterday, last
week.....forever.
When the grandfather clock chimes another hour, she allows
herself the luxury of just a few tears to wet her face. She does not
count the chimes as time has no relevance here, in this room.
Glancing down she sees her glass has been emptied. Up to the kitchen,
pour another glassful, she goes back to the couch.

She understands there little time left, so she sits there.
Yesterday, last week....tomorrow?

Pandora's Box

Of course I knew the day was coming. For several thousand years
I've known the date. I have not lived one day without this beast
on my back.
Damn Zeus to Hades. He could not be satisfied with the punishment he
metered out to Prometheus. No, he then had to have me created by
his choice of gods! For revenge? Revenge!

He imbued me with many qualities. Beauty, kindness of heart, and of
course curiosity. I was also given a pithos. Indeed I am Pandora and the
pithos is my daily burden known as “the box”. The box containing all
of the worlds evils.
Zeus then rent the sky wide and dropped me forth to live among the humans
to guard the secret of the box..to allow nothing to escape again.....
until now.

I have begged Charron with thrice his fee. On my knees for a ferry
across Styx. This also is denied me. There was never to be any sucress.

I spend my days tenderly rubbing the box with oils from the finest
of olives. There is no sheen that could possibly compare to the one
of Pandora's box. The scent of myrrh permeates its shape.
It has over the years, taken on a life of its own. It is not unlike a woman
gently and with great care, being taken care of by her lover.

And yet, I stand at this day of reckoning, anticipation and horror course
through me to my very core. Just what will Zeus have me unleash
upon humankind?
With one last tear, I slowly push the lock back and open the box.

Inside lay one thing and one thing only.
A mustard seed.

a walk to captain

A WALK TO CAPTAIN

the waves beat onto the shore with a rage unseen until
this moment in time. Skies deep, heavy and bruised.
Ice like...the water so cold it leaves no mark in the sand.

It is a rocky shore. Ageless and time forgotten. Beautifully
smooth rocks and boulders begin to rattle and move
with the force of the great waves. Movement unknown
and uninvited.

The cliff above the rocks rains down shoal like tears.
Atop the cliff stands a lone house. Occupied by one alone.


She stands at the window, watches the devastation,.she feels
no fear only anticipation. She has waited a lengthy time
for just this moment. The house shakes with the force of
such mighty winds...and with this wanton power, she knows.

Turning...she reaches up and removes the photo from the
mantlepiece. A sailor. Stern of visage..a small smile of pride
and what she believes is love. Her captain.
Dressed only in a sheer gown of white, she makes her way to
shore. Tightly holding the time worn photo she is buffeted
by the relentless winds. Calmly she strides past the boulders,
bending only momentarily. Her friends, she thinks, as she lightly
glides a slender hand across the surface. Ahh, she dare not
linger as she is wont. She is determined, she has purpose.

Straight is her course, the wind blowing a spray of sea water
into her face. She breathes it in. nirvana.
Without a glance back she walks into these angry waves.

The sea has claimed her captain.......surely it will welcome her.

No refund, No return

No refund, no return

Slowly he opens his eyes. Stretching languidly and savoring
every sore muscle. Every thought, movement and sweet memory.
Closes his eyes once again, he buries his face in the pillow.
Her scent lingers and engulfs him with erotic pleasure. Much as
he adores the musing, he loves her more. Turns over to hold her
in his arms again...and again.
Empty sheets lie beneath his outstretched palm...empty and
cold? Has he overlooked something? No, no they had made plans
for breakfast out this morning! Oh, she must be in the
kitchen making coffee. But no, he does not smell coffee. No
pungent welcoming morning smell. No familiar chickory scent.
Tripping over sheets that had so recently enveloped lovers,
he runs to the living room and feels.....lost, panic rules his emotions.
Her coat, the things she had with her last evening have vanished.
A faint whisper of fragrance lingers in the air. It rebukes him,
taunts him, laughs and teases him.
After a pain filled year without her, he finds her. In the club
last night. Standing by the dance floor with that quixotic smile on
her face. So similar to when they first started out, be believes it
must be his imagination. He orders a drink, certain that when he
next turns around she will not be there. A cypher, a ghost.
He has spent a better part of this last agonizing year, searching, calling,
despairing. Never giving up...only gave in to the inevitable pain
the grind of what he calls life.
They had enjoyed a month of bliss few ever experience.
She was there, She was THERE with him. He questioned his
good fortune each of those 30 days. He begged her to stay with him.
She is his everything, a once in a life time experience. STAY he pleads.
He recalls her throwing her head back and laughing...but still, she stays.
Hand holding, warmth of body to body. Making love at all hours.
Just to gaze at her while she did mundane things, all were a thrill to
him.
Did he stop for one moment...just a precious minute and ask.....
“what does she feel”?
With regret, coursing through his deeper being he admits to having
done none of this...her smile, her passion has led him to believe.
Rushing home, what a wonderful word, it IS home with her there.
Roses in hand a plan for a night out, he finds the loft devoid of her
presence. There is nothing of her there, nothing but his memories.
And yet, here she stands. Almost regal, the way she holds
herself...the black dress, pearls and aura of 'me'.
He cares not. He takes hold of his drink, his heart and walks over.
'baby' he says...she turns and oh God, there is that smile!
Smirk some may say. But HE knows...he has seen that smile in
bed, at their most intimate moments. HE knows it weeps vulnerability.
Putting his drink down..he takes her hand gently in his, leads her out
the door and onto Broadway. She has said nothing...just holds his hand
tightly. A cab ride, and their back at his loft.

He walks back into the bed room, eyes wet with tears and steps on
something hard, unyielding. Bending down he finds a pearl.
And another, more until he discovers what must have been the
entire strand.

She is gone...she will not be back