The Staying Game_‘Twas the night before, the night before Christmas..._Dragon's Daughter_I Remem
Catalog Guide:
The Staying Game
I've often said that all poetry is political. This is because real poems deal with a human response to reality andwww.onedoor.cc politics is part of reality, history in the making. Even if a poet writes about sitting in a glass house drinking tea, it reflects politics.-Yehuda AmichaiThe tea kettle doesn’t whistle, it screams. Vibrations of built up steam trying to escape through a narrow opening. Once my habit was to poise beside the stovetop, listening for the stirring of water, anticipating the alarm before it could occur. “It is like a game.” I thought, But no. Games ought to be fun, and should not creat...
‘Twas the night before, the night before Christmas...
Seeing my wife in tears did it: her sheer, heartbroken disappointment. Misery had chiselled despair into her face. That look pressed me to insist on her taking a bath so that I could do something I had sworn I would never do again: make a phone call of complaint.I thought about starting with sure footing: an email: my preferred method. I am a teacher of English by vocation; writing to complain always makes me feel like I possessed an advantage. However, it was Christmas. Despite my wife’s disappointment, I wanted to maintain a sense of fair play and calmness. I wanted to maintain a feelin...
Dragon's Daughter
I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes, all originating from the space in my father’s skull. One night he spun a story in which I was a pilot, flying a ’50s-style turboprop over oceans made of sapphire; in the next, I was a cunning thief, pilfering from greedy ghouls who lined their pockets with the misery of others; yet another night, I was a magician, pulling rabbits out of a hat during the day and frolicking with them on my farm by night.But in my favorite timeline, I was a princess and a knight and a scholar in one. I studied in my cozy corner of the castle by day, wrapped in a woolen blanket and...
I Remembered the Light
On the slopes was a young man and young woman, skiing together. Daniel, under his helmet and mask, had short brown hair and bright blue eyes. He would have liked to think he was striking, but really he was just an ordinary sort of handsome. With him was Darla, who had come along as his ski buddy. They’d also come with a friend, Alice, but she was actually afraid of skiing and admitted she had just come along for moral support. The three had laughed about it, but it did leave her alone in the lodge waiting for them to be done. “What’s going on with you and Alice?” Darla asked as they went down...