As of late, I've been thinking about what to do with myself, and as much as I want to write, I find myself lacking the inspiration that came to me. Unfortunately I do not have my camera to take out photos of the lush untamed natural life here in Baltimore suburbs, but I did think about this picture I found online, depicting what I think my dastardly queen should look like. I posted the chapter on her. What do you think? Anyone...
A poem I wrote years ago (with minor alterations), that seems to have a resonance to what's going on right now...in MORE ways than ONE...
Gone.
We use to live that Breyers Ice Cream kind of life
always smooth, always soft, just so creamy and
full of flavor. Now we don’t. It just doesn’t seem
right to me anymore. Now we’re like Rocky-Road or one
of those eroded flavors- now we’re like Cold Stone
without the Creamery. Our love doesn’t mesh like it
use to, it doesn’t vibe. We use to be Luther Vandross
songs on a cold winters’ night. We were heat, we were
passion and now we’re two completely different artists.
We’re not even the Blues. I don’t even know what to call us.
Where has the bond gone? The red mango eating laughter,
with fingertips ripping apart Ali’s fresh rotis with anchar
and curry on the edge of our lips. Our Ocean Spray kisses
filled with tangerine tart. Where has it gone? Now we’re
just Vicks Vapor Rub- achy, shaky hugs that don’t feel like
anything and I’m here like Icy Hot, heated one minute
and then trying to relax the pain of you not being who
you were when I first met you.
What has happened to us? Weren’t we good?
Weren’t we making progress? Now it’s like we’ve gotten
wrapped up in a Hurricane Katrina- just all messed up,
washed up with nowhere to go from here. Baby, where are we?
We use to be on going music- we use to be Beethoven’s
Symphonies and Chopin pieces- we were Nocturne,
lullabies putting each others worst fears to bed and going to
sleep with a breeze of fresh Hilton hotel air, we were
the Trump Tower, our bond was a beautiful structure of
golden proportions and now it’s in an Indonesian destruction.
What has happened to us?
We use to live that creamy Breyers Ice Cream kind of life.
Full of Ali’s Roti shop laughter and filled with Luther Vandross
love. We use to be rolling greens of Irelands’ Celtic scenery,
and now, we’re of two different continents. Our lines don’t cross
or flow in the same direction. We’re driving on the Verazzano
in opposite directions, but I love you. Baby, come back to me.
An excerpt from one of my finished short stories from a year-two years ago:
It was a rather cold night in November when my eyes met Victor’s in a lasting gaze. I watched Emme jump along the snow-laden grass, her leash whipping the cold air. He was walking home, bundled in a leather coat, and looked back at Emme. He smiled at the dog and then looked at me. I looked back and kept my eyes fixed on him. I smirked and watched how he glanced down at my lips. I licked them.
He approached me. “Hey, I think I always see you in the park,” he said. I could see the hot air rising out of his mouth. “Do you live in the area?” he asked. He had cocked his head to the side. A sure fire sign that he was interested. I told him I did live in the area. “As a matter of fact,” I told him, “I just moved into one of the Old West End mansions in this part of Toledo, not too far from this park.”
“Really?” he asked. I nodded. I knew I had him.
“Wow, that’s pretty cool. So, that means that you’re relatively new to the neighborhood then?” he asked. He was curious. I liked that.
“I guess I am. I haven’t really gone out much since I got here. I just stay at home or sit in the park with Emme,” I said, shrugging my shoulder in the direction of the dog. He looked at her and gave a light chuckle.
“So um, could I welcome you to the area, maybe with some coffee?” he asked me. He stood with his hands in his pocket, his shoulders squared off. I looked into his eyes. Those chocolate brown eyes. I wanted to invite him over immediately, but I knew I had him. And with the amount of waiting I did, a couple of days wouldn’t hurt. I asked him if he wanted to go right now, and he told me that we could walk to a quaint little coffee shop around the corner. I whistled for Emme, and she trotted towards me. I grabbed her leash and we walked over to the shop.
I tied Emme up outside, near the entrance. The sign said “No Paws Allowed.”
He sat at a little wooden table next to a window. Snow had mounted on the panes and I could smell the scent of maple trees. He had ordered his cup of coffee and asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I told him I was fine. He insisted. I liked it. I ordered a non-fat cappuccino with extra foam. He looked at me and parted his lips to speak.
“Watching your figure I see…” he said.
“You’re more than welcome to watch,” I responded. He smiled. As did I. We talked for a while as we waited for the coffee. I learned that he had grown up right here in Washington, D.C. Was the first in his family to graduate from college. He graduated from John Hopkins University in Baltimore, with a degree in English Literature and worked at a library part-time while working on a dissertation on Eighteenth Century literature emerging from the period of Restoration.
“That’s quite a handful to write about,” I told him. He nodded.
“Yeah it is. I mean, it was such a crazy time in literature…and the society, the rakes, the aristocracy, the rejection of morale and the approval of indecency…” he trailed.
“I know,” I said. “It was a nightly ball! Nothing but drunkards and prostitutes and very loose men.” He laughed.
“You have an interest in the Restoration period?”
“ Not really. I watched a lot of what was going on, you know documentaries, and that Johnny Depp movie ‘Libertine.’ Makes you feel like you could’ve lived there,” I responded.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. With all the studying I’ve been doing, it’s almost like I lived there.” We both chuckled a bit. I saw the waitress pass by and asked if she could put my cappuccino in a cup to go. I wasn’t too keen on letting Emme stand outside too long by herself, I told him. Maybe, I said, we could finish this conversation another night.
“Sure, what night’s great for you?” he asked me.
“How about tomorrow, at the movies. My treat,” I said.
“That sound’s grand. So we’ll meet in the park?”
“Sure! Perfect, that sounds like a date,” I told him. The waitress came back with my cappuccino. “It’s really hot,” she said as she handed the cup to me. I told her thanks and pulled two dollars out of my jacket pocket. Victor told me to put my money away.
“It’s the least I can do,” he whispered, then winked. He leaned over and touched my hand. I lowered my eyes and then looked up at him.
“Until tomorrow,” I said and then I waved goodbye.
I stepped outside and untied Emme. She was such a perfectly trained dog. I walked away from the shop, feeling his eyes on me. I turned back and raised my cup towards his figure in the window. I crossed the street and waited until I was out of eyesight to toss the drink into the nearest bin.
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