jbaker's profile

You see me: Four years old Approaching you with letters Barely legible On a portable chalkboard. “Does this make a word?” Until one day it does. But suddenly I am Alone and struggling With words. You cannot hear what I am trying To say: meanings evaporate Like frozen breaths Of small-town gossip. And I am gone. You are proud But a little jealous-- Passing out information In the local paper: Honors and Distinction A Master, a small faculty position At twenty three. It is only ...

At four am, Eric Lawson is not facing his wife, Abigail, but has turned onto his side, facing the edge of the mattress as it leaps into blackness and silence, broken only by the empty thunk… thunk of the dripping tap. Instead of pacing, he is ineffectually surveying the abyss of their master bedroom; his mind’s eye continuously tracing the outlines of an antique dressing table, his and Abigail’s clothing thrown carelessly over the back of a rocking chair, and the chintz-curtained picture wind...

Spread out on clean hotel sheets Toes curl luxury, grasping Threadcount over threadbare. Chin caressing cold plastic lover-- Electronic voice crackling flame Consumed to carbon. Eyelids sink over lemongrass irises, Open again impenetrable. Do you have nothing to say? Nothing. To what I said, nothing. Speak serpent tongue, meanly And render endings... Speak. Nothing. Closed. Click.

The first thing that Daniella noticed when she awoke on that very ordinary day was not that she was completely immersed in water. The first thing she realized was that she could see soles. She blinked heavy eyelids twice to see more clearly. Yes. Thick bands of rubber pressed against smooth glass. She could see the shoe size: women’s 7 ½. They were kitten heels—one tiny round circle of plastic and then a teardrop more, with tiny horizontal lines running across it: treads. She wondered if the...

Crisp tapping keys-- Music to untrained ears Bring melody to unsung histories, Dust-covered paragons Of untold years-- Secrets sliding lazily along Tiny electric channels of the brain: Salmon in desperate leaps For survival, for renewal Upstream. Struggle against suffocation In torrents of unmedicated thought At an end, floating fitfully Face up, skyward, Long forgot. Courage is the thing; It creeps up from smooth plastic cylinders Institutionally administered Pearls in their oysters; Soft wh...