Breadcrumb #406

LISA RHODES-RYABCHICH

The sea rolls it’s shoulders
onto the shores.
Are we the ocean, the trees
the bush, the swallow
the seat of the wind in the air?
We breathe in the sun glinting 
off the roof like electricity
zigzagging life
over glass—Life zigzagging.
Drawn back we see
the glass reflecting a silver
electric butterfly.
We are all camouflaged.
Who are we?
We are in all of it ...
Death and resurrection.
Like the rocks of life
we walk out slowly creating
a path to merge with wildlife.
We swim like the geese
letting the waves lap
onto their feathery skins
unabashed and unashamed.

• • •

Breadcrumb #405

BUTTERED ROLL

My mother taught me that

Empty stomachs

Are good sources of

Renewable energy.

She never served a meal

On a paper plate.

My father is 45 feet tall;

and, on occasion, an optical illusion.

He’s been standing

At a roadside rest stop

Halfway between Medellin and Bogota

For the past 37 years.

He gave me

An appreciation of silence

And showed me how

To hold a candle

With a phantom limb.

Albert Einstein was an eclipse of the sun

Caused by well-placed wooden nickel.

He once explained how mutual attraction

Turns me into a liar.

And sugartooth,

I can’t forget about you.

Thank you for teaching me

How to sell my inheritance

On Craig’s List

For a few shots of Jameson,

Broken Blood vessels

And fragmented memories

of bathroom floors.

As you might be able to tell

My blood has been curdling

For some time now.

That being said

Thanks to Howard Dean,

for teaching me how to

Effectively express that feeling.

And, of course,

Thank you to Jesus

For giving me an

Irritable amount of intestinal fortitude

and an extremely short memory.

 

Nothing but love

For my bartender,

Who happens to have

A very comfortable couch.

An adult diaper

Full of the Oedipus complex

For my therapist,

Who happens to look a lot

Like my bartender

Salutations to Irish whiskey

And all of her friends;

For teaching me

About the burning sensation

That is a symptom of humility.

Much love to

all of my sock puppets,

current and deceased,

for teaching me

the finer points of

mental health awareness.

My love to

the necromancy department

at the museum of natural history

for resurrecting ancient history

and ensuring that Jeff Golblum

will destroy us all.

And, quite honestly,

The biggest, most erect,

Showing of gratitude to god itself.

Thank you for minding

Your own business

While watching me masturbate.

While watching me run in circles.

Thanks for providing me

With the illusion of agency.

You’re correct,

I meant to go face first

Down those staircases.

I know that you and my NSA agent

Are both very good listeners.

Which, is maybe

The only reason why

I feel it’s even somewhat necessary

To appear appreciative

For the loss

That I’ve been given.

• • •

Breadcrumb #404

GARY GLAUBER

The large man
on the elevator
makes sure all
the women enter
and exit before him.
He wishes everyone
a blessed day ahead.
The young woman
standing so close  
on the overly crowded
downtown express train
is oblivious
to my reading
what she texts
on her phone.
It is in Chinese –  
privacy is protected.
The lanky Dominican
wags a finger, 
looking out
for his elderly Papi
sitting across the way.
He serves up a smile
as our eyes meet.
At my stop, 
I wish him
a great day.  
This is the circle
of kindness
not publicized,
the soft magic
of the city,
its melting pot
of various peoples,
all going about
their respective business,
but paying forward
good wishes that make
the daily challenges
of the harsh metropolis
that much easier to bear.
You too, my friend,
he answers back.
The doors close behind me,
but the day is just beginning.   

• • •     • • •     • • •

Breadcrumb #403

MELANIE CALANTROPIO

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and
admire the flowers -
I have waited all year for them to grow.
I have watered them,
felt their petals on my soft fingers,
clenched the soil between them and sobbed
on my knees, submissive to dirt
grateful
you tell me the beauty lies in the impermanence
but I long for something tangible
the sour taste of sap, dripping from you -
a promise.
when you are gone, they are flaccid
bent over, praying
for redemption
they turn to dust.
our daughter wants to know,
"will we disappear too?"

• • •