On A SwingTwenty-three years old.On A Swing9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Sitting alone on a swing.
Strangers and children don't count.
I don't know them.
I somehow made him angry again.
I don't quite know how.
Doesn't matter really.
My feet before my face.
The leaves before my feet.
The sky before the leaves.
Up and down, back and forth
With every swing I'm closer to the leaves
Sunlight filters through them.
Have to pump just right to get higher.
Up, up, up.
Can I go up forever?
No. I'll fall off.
Clandestine Meetingclang... clang... clang...Clandestine Meeting8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
With every rung on the cold metal ladder I climbed, the sound of my ascent became louder and louder to my ears. I continued to ask myself whY I was doing this. Pulling myself up a fire escape ladder, moving hand over hand, foot over foot, to reach the roof where awaited the reason that I was climbing.
I'd met her only two hours earlier. My brother had taken me out to see the newest angry-chic-music band he was managing; a group of lesbian wannabes who felt they'd been wronged by men. They were only seventeen at best, hardly old enough to have dealt with the anger-inducing hurt that they sang about. At the worst, they've suffered only the slings and arrows of high school drama. Yet they sing, and bang out loud (and to my ears obnoxious) melodies as they screamed into microphones turned way too high. So I sat myself in the corner. Just a lonely, bored looking lesbian.
I'm not really a lesbian. True, I've had more girlfriends than boyfriends in my twenty