Arrows

excerpt

“Monkoi’ kë ëmo.” Stay where you are, she seemed to be saying. Be
still. It was her tone of voice that I understood. Next thing, I was
getting baked plantain and fish shoved under my nose, and I
realized I was famished. I ate from her fingers in the twilight.
A soft breeze blew from the entrance that cooled my sweat,
making me feel better. I had closed my eyes but now opened them
and noticed a strange expression on her face. Her eyes were intent
on the food she was giving me, from the moment she took it from the
leaves until she put it in my mouth. I took her hand and waited for
her to look at me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Kejka?”
The tones of such niceties are common to all peoples. She was
asking me if I had meant to say thank you. I nodded. She met my
gaze. We had found one word of mutual understanding. Kejka.
Thank you.Her eyes filled with tears, her shoulders shook, and she
commenced sobbing. She covered her face with one arm and
turned a little away from me, abandoning the food on the ground
beside me.
I sat up faster than I would have done, grunting with pain. Even
marshalling all the Carib words and expressions I knew, I failed
miserably in finding a suitable thing to say to her. I stroked her head,
talking soothingly in Spanish instead, whispering words she could
not understand. It was the weeping of one who has lived through
terrible things and has kept silent too long.
She embraced me, her cheek against my chest. An unknown
tenderness welled up inside me. The touch of her skin on mine was a
new and inebriating sensation as I felt her little hands on my back,
and her arms enfold me. I was holding my weight with one hand on
the ground while the other stroked her coal-black hair.
She started talking, fast, still shaken by sobs. I picked up the
sleeve of my frock, which was lying on the ground, and lifted her
chin so that I could dry her face and nose. She brushed her nose with
the palm of her hand and sniffled loudly. Her reddened eyes were
close to mine. I avoided her eyes as long as I could but then looked

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073522

Poodie James

excerpt

woman for the first time since he and Millie said goodbye. Dear
Millie. Dear Marcie. Poodie considered lighting the kerosene
lamp and reaching for his History of Egypt. He was asleep before
the thought ended.
Chief Darwin Spanger eased his cruiser into the parking place he
had ordered reserved alongside the Columbia Hotel. The parade
was two blocks down the avenue, headed north toward the center
of town. The population today was ten times normal. More than
100,000 folks were packed along the parade route, some of them
there since sunup. The image of a red delicious surrounded by
apple blossoms topped every lamp post and telephone pole. Bunting
trailed above the street in white and green swoops. Six deep on
the sidewalks, people fanned themselves with festival programs.
Summer weather was a month early. The urgencies of a Sousa
march wafted up the hot asphalt and melded with the babble of the
crowd craning their necks as they watched a skywriter finish his
message. It stretched above the valley from the Columbia to the
rocky outcroppings on the foothills west of town, “Welcome To
The Apple Capital Of The World.” Chief Spanger saw two of his
men on opposite sides of the avenue moving barely fast enough to
keep their motorcycles upright, herding impatient youngsters back
to the curb. The parade’s outriders followed. Tassles on their red
fezes flew as the Shriners cut figure eights and do-si-doed up the
street, grinning and waving on miniature motor scooters and tiny
cars powered by one-lung engines. The tin signs on their handlebars
read “Al Azhar Temple, Calgary, Alberta,” and “Zelzah
Shrine Temple, Las Vegas,” “Al Bedoo Temple, Billings,Montana,”
Ben Ali Temple, Sacramento, California,” “Calam, Lewiston,
Idaho.” “Masada, Yakima, Wash.,” “Bagdad, Butte, Montana,”
“Afifi, Tacoma,” “Moses Lake,” “Seattle,” “Portland,” “Spokane,”
hundreds of old men zooming and cavorting, waves of cartoon characters
driving cartoon vehicles. The crowd was laughing.
“From them signs, it looks like an A-rab invasion,” Spanger
heard a parade watcher tell his wife, “but them guys damn sure…

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08W7SHCMV

Impulses

Bicycle
Bicycle left in the holiness of rust
two olives on the plate
one slice of bread for us three
can hunger divide equally
pain? One shoeless young boy
eyes of sunlight
one improvised explosive devise
for twelve soldiers of our platoon
can death be portioned
as sunlight through a sieve?
Nuance of wind aloof
through forsaken barracks
bicycle left in the loneliness of rust
two olives on the plate share pain

https://www.amazon.com/dp/0981073565