Tuesday, August 24, 2010

bring me ...





bring me ...

bring me wild flowers
sprinkle them over my body
the way you used to litter them
across open prairie fields
when i had the eyes of a child

bring me the warm spray of a sea coast
let it wash over my cheeks
and dissolve away the mask
of sorrow and regret
that i have worn for far too long

bring me a carpet of dried leaves
let me hear it crunch under my feet
and even when i walk down the silent concrete
streets of murder and fear
let its sound guide me home

bring me an icy mountain
let it rise in front of me in the fury of a storm
to teach me how small my place is here
when i climb the rickety ladder of pride
and believe i am more than i am


Copyright © Kennedy James, 2010. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

outside in




outside in



outside
the children are pirouettes of sunlight
swirling in a ballet
of imprecise leaps
squealing in the slippery game of tag
under the drizzle of a summer sprinkler
and this spontaneous joy is just enough
just enough to show
that life unfolds
all there is
from the inside out

outside
she sits beside him on a park bench
and unwraps the waxed paper
from all their years together
to offer him half a sandwich
he needs no more
and this shared moment is just enough
just enough to show
that life unfolds
all there is
from the inside out

inside
i hear you dreaming
then waking alone
and your girlish giggle chides me
for being apart
so far from your arms
but when i return to you in the rumpled bed
each whispered kiss is just enough
just enough to show
that love enfolds
all there is
from the outside in

Copyright © Kennedy James, 2010. All rights reserved.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

A Prairie Life







The following is a work of fiction, and any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, or to real events and localities is purely coincidental.

A Prairie Life



Lucille GuĂ°nason sat beside me in the back of Jimmy Walker's roadster as we whirled through the dips and curves of a prairie life. She squealed with excitement as she plucked the petals from a daisy and threw one after another out the side window. "She loves me," she shrieked with exaggerated pleasure in a falsetto voice. Then she would toss another petal out the window, and in her deepest voice, add, "She loves me not."

I watched her with young, blue eyes, as if I were waiting for the verdict. She caught the depth of my gaze, and a dark veil fell like a shadow over her face.

"Quit," she whispered to me in a soft reprimand. "We're going. I'm not talking about it anymore."

I dropped my eyes and stared into to my lap. I felt small in her presence. Then, with a forced giggle, she threw her head back and bucked her hips upwards, as the car roared over a hill and soared into flight. When the front tires crashed to the swollen asphalt, Lucille lurched forward and moaned as her nose flattened against the back of the front seat. A trickle of blood found its way down her chin and smeared her white blouse.

She pulled a knot of tissues from her bag and held it tightly against her nose, turning it over once or twice until the bleeding stopped. I tried to help her settle back into the seat, but she pushed me away.

"Damn it to hell," she growled, "I'm fine. Just leave me alone."

I wanted to turn away, turn away and look out across the fields of wheat that rippled in shades of harvest gold all the way to the horizon. I couldn't, and instead, I picked her daisy up from the floor and cradled it in my hands in front of her. There were only four or five petals remaining, and I tied to calculate the odds of Lucille's love for me, but she snatched it away and threw the flower into the bright sunlight.

"I never loved you," she whispered, "and I never will."

I looked away, then back into her eyes.

"You're crying," I said softly. "Don't be sad."

"I'm not," she hissed back to me. "I'm angry."

"At me?"

"Yes, at you, at me, at all of this."

"It'll be all right, you know," I said without truly believing my words. "It's just a small thing, and then it will be done."

"It's not a small thing. Small to you, maybe, but not small to me."

"We decided," I began.

"No," she groaned. "We didn't decide. You decided. You wanted this, not me."

"There was no other way."

"Not in your mind. Not in your selfish muddle of a mind. All you see is what's best for you."

"That's not true," I said quietly.

Lucille's eyes lit up in a rage.

"It is true," she blurted. "The only one who matters is you. Can't you see? I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for you."

I sat back and said nothing. We had reached the town line, and the roadster slowed as Jimmy turned down a side street and up a long hill. A white clapboard house loomed above us, and then in an instant, we had pulled into the gravel drive and stopped by a side door.

Afterwards, Lucille sat on a stone bench, some distance from the house, near where an old tire was tied by a rotting green rope to an ancient oak tree. It swung and twisted, ever so slightly, in the evening breeze. Lucille was smoking cigarettes and watching the sun set, a bright yellow glow surrounded by eerie white clouds slowly turning grey. I watched her for a few minutes, considered calling to her, but didn't.

Instead, I leaned against the car by Jimmy, kicked at the gravel, and wondered aloud, "How long you think she'll sit there? I gotta get back before dark."

Copyright © Kennedy James, 2010. All rights reserved.





© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.
All material in this site is copyrighted under International Copyright Law. Reproduction of original content, in any form and in whole or in part, save for fair use exemption, is prohibited by the author of this site without expressed, written permission.