“I am moved by fancies that are curled; Around these images, and cling; The notion of some infinitely gentle; Infinitely suffering thing.”
–TS Eliot
Ive watched my nervousness
eat me daily,
clutch me with its
indecision I am robed in
rosary, nodding, chanting throughout
the day but really I am
fickle
is the first thing I write about myself
and I am always
holding something somewhere in
my body.
like a claw lives inside
my jaw line and now
I have TMJ
what’s that? sometimes
they wait.
a psychosomatic disorder where your
jaw locks when you’re chewing
and you slowly start to choke.
well not everyone chokes.
I just started to choke
when it closed the first time.
“the drowning”
She hit him hard with the paddle before he had a chance to speak.
“Ow! Fuck! Why did you do that?”
He looked over at her.
“No, not fair.”
She set the paddle on the night stand.
“All is fair in sex and war.”
“I’m onto you.”
She walked towards the door. Her heels made sound and they hadn’t before. At some point during the last story, she had put stilletoes on.
“Where are you going?”
She kept walking without turning around.
“You only get one question and I didn’t respond to that one.”
She turned to face him at the door.
“Why did I do it? Because I could.”
They stared at each other. He felt the sting from the paddle on his left thigh, fading.
“You’ll love the next story. You may recognize it. It’s The 13th Story.”
He looked puzzled.
“No, it’s the third story.”
She smiled.
“Oh maybe you are catching on.”
She winked and walked out. He felt the sting from the paddle disappear. He replayed her words you may recognize it. He listened to her heels clack down the empty hallway further away from him. He wanted to call her a bitch out loud but was scared she could still hear him somehow.
Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free.
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows
That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of Love’s latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies;
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And Innocence is closing up his eyes—
Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over,
From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!
–Michael Drayton
“Just say yes and step into the consequence.”
–kaveh akbar, calling a wolf a wolf
is it love,
with you is it
love?
is it love?
is it love?
is it love?
is it love?
is it love?
She took her time. Each stroke became longer and more sparkly. It wasn’t necessary but dramatic as was the theme and when he come up behind her to hug her, she smiled in the mirror. She patted her lips one more time letting the blue shimmer by candlelight, washed her hands and returned to the party. The back stairs were set with alternating black and white candles, twelve each and the entire backyard was covered with string lights so everything twinkled.
“Don’t you think this is dangerous?” she asked, waving her hands over her Mary Janes pointing to each votive on her way to the bonfire.
A lavender laced joint was being passed around.
“We are doing it again.”
“What?”
“Thirteen stories.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“So,” Petesia clapped his hands together and went over the rules for the newcomers as she took her seat. “One person starts–they set the theme. Last year it was ‘Video Game or Nightmares’ and we were supposed to guess which is which after each story. This year…”
Osiria cut him off, “This year we have no theme because we haven’t started.”
Timidly, Ava cut in, “Isn’t the theme Shakespeare in Space?”
Orb laughed loudly next to her and Jelinda shot a glare his way.
“Well, it’s a Midsummer’s Night Space Dream but the theme of the stories and game can be anything,” Petesia said.
“So this is how it works,”Osiria immediately turned her attention back to the circle. “Someone starts the story. The person who starts set the tone; the theme of the story and the rule of the game. We go around until we get to thirteen. Since there’s now only ten of us, three people will go twice. The last person has to end the story that the first person started.”
“What’s the catch?” “Mr.” asked taking the joint from Ophelia.
“It’s got lavender in it,” Cat said.
“No, with the game.”
“Well, legend has it that whoever it ends on is cursed.”
“Mr.” passed the joint to Pan.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Annnd…” Petesia interjected.
“Annnd, we make you tell us the weirdest thing about you .”
“Ohhh, cool!”
“Well we did that before.”
“Or you have to confess all your secrets.”
Pan passed the joint back to Cat who winked at Petesia quickly.
“Or maybe act out the story for us.”
“That’s not all, “ Petesia pointed at Artemis letting his fangs shine.
The crowd waited.
“The story comes for you,” he winked, not at Artemis or Ava but at Cat. “And it comes to life.”
Osiria grabbed the joint from Pan before he could take a drag.
“Who wants to start?” she said. “I start almost every year so I’m trying to pass this time.”
“Oh you play every year?” a woman in a fairy costume asked.
She had named herself “Eliza.” Petesia and Osiria nodded at her.
“We try to keep them kind of short though,”Osiria looked at Artemis.
“There’s only ten of us, “ Marco said, circling to the group.
“Three people will go twice, “ Cat turned to gently remind him.
“I’ll go first!” Artemis cheerfully volunteered.
“Really?” Osiria shot her a look.
“Yeah, I love games!”
“So…” she rubbed her hands together and looked at Petesia across the fire. “The first story is called…The Woman Who Walked for Miles.”
“The 13th Story”
“oh lord spare this body, set fire to another.”
-kaveh akbar, calling a wolf a wolf
“you are in my favor.”
–responses from Hecate during meditation, 06/9/2019 4:38 pm
but my house is a giant shifting altar
so you better run.
“chrysalis”
daturamoon.com 