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ken*again
, the literary magazine  
         
   

ken*again
is a quarterly, nonprofit e-zine presenting a
hearty, eclectic mix of prose, poetry, art and photography:
accessible, obscure, soothing, disturbing.

Wrap your mind around a good read.
 



 



Poetry


Slaughterhouse  Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Fear Comes Charging  Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
All I Need  Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Always Disappearing   Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
Crows   Rosemarie Crisafi
Binary Goodbye  Rosemarie Crisafi
Piscialletto  Rosemarie Crisafi
The New Sport  Robert L. Harrison
The Watchers  Robert L. Harrison
Twist My Words  Michael Lee Johnson
If I Were Young Again  Michael Lee Johnson
Bipolar  Michael Lee Johnson
Battered behind Dark Glasses  Michael Lee Johnson
Mulatako Dance  Dipita Kwa
Age  Joseph Lewis
Boy on a Bike  Joseph Lewis
Closings  Joseph Lewis
Anthem  Joseph Lewis
Objects  Joseph Lewis
Mud Duck Blessing  J. Alan Nelson
Nightmare of the Old Typewriter  J. Alan Nelson
To Ranikhet (In the Kumaon Himalayas)
  Ashok Niyogi
Crickets' Chorus  Ashok Niyogi
I Took a Wrong Turn   Ashok Niyogi
Angel Fire  Rod Peckman
Morning on the Balcony with__    Rod Peckman
Paper Scissors Rock  Rod Peckman
Indecisive  Dan Provost
A History Lesson During a Bout with Insomnia
  Dan Provost
Underground Movie Director  Dan Provost
Hermit  Thomas D. Reynolds
Trusting Spring  Iolanda Scripca
The Weeder 
Tom Sheehan
Cabot Trail Liaison  Tom Sheehan
Night Forgery  Tom Sheehan
Remnants  Tom Sheehan
The Semaphore in Sunlight Flew  Tom Sheehan
April  Joanna M. Weston
What We Used To Know  Joanna M. Weston
Birch  Joanna M. Weston
For Emma  Joanna M. Weston
Clean  Kelley Jean White
Caged  Kelley Jean White
Cold Duck 
Kelley Jean White
Downfall 
Kelley Jean White
Dead Cat in Chinatown 
Kelley Jean White

Prose      

The Van  CL Bledsoe
Jitters/Tics  Melanie Cotter 
Fast-food Love   William Gladys
The Man in the Moon  Charles Langley  
Gregory  Quentin Poulsen
A Day of December In Catalina  Iolanda Scripca
Charnley and Leonard the Blind Man  Tom Sheehan  
Odd job  Saskia van der Linden

Art

Three Untitled  Michael Moreth
Handmade 17  Melissa Ozaki
Handmade 10  Melissa Ozaki
A Bay  Melissa Ozaki
Wave 5  Melissa Ozaki
Four Untitled  Dee Rimbaud
Nimbus  Peter Schwartz
Bangs and Whimpers  Peter Schwartz
Artificial Respiration  Peter Schw

And another thing... 

Paradise Thrown Away, Now Impossible to Regain, Reclaim, Recycle (part2)  Duane Locke


 

CONTRIBUTORS

 


Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal (poetry) works in the mental health field in Los Angeles, CA.  His first book of poetry, Raw Materials, was published by Pygmy Forest Press.  His poems have appeared in Free Verse, Pemmican, and Zygote In My Coffee and he has work appearing in Ascent Aspirations, Cerebral Catalyst (both online journals), and in Blue Collar Review & Remark Poetry Journal (print journal).  He had two chapbooks published by Kendra Steiner Editions, Without Peace and Keepers of Silence.
 Cuatemochi@aol.com

CL Bledsoe (poetry) has work in over 150 journals including Hamilton Stone Review, Lily, Juked, and previously in ken*again.  He is an editor for Ghoti Magazine  He has work most recently in Monkey Bicycle, Pindeldeyboz, Hobart, and Blood Orange Reviewmariastatic@yahoo.com

Melanie Cotter (prose) is a graduate teaching assistant at Central Michigan University with a background in creative writing (fiction).  Her work can be seen in the online journals Temenos and Word Riot.  Also, Melanie finds living with Nick and Slash a suitable writing environment, full of quirks and adventure.  To poke at her brain, send her an e-mail.  cotte1ms@cmich.edu

Rosemarie Crisafi (poetry) lives in Fishkill, New York.  Her poetry has been published most recently in Flutter Poetry Journal, Snap Poetry Journal, Snow Monkey#18, Ghoti No. 9, The Potomac, and Unlikely Stories.  Her chapbook, Days of Reckoning, is available at the Lily Literary Review.  fishkillpoet@optonline.net

William Gladys (prose) is the pen name of Brian Rayner. Under his pen name he published (through his own Derek Books) a satire, Monarchy:  Politics of Tyranny & Denial, an irreverent critique of royals and monarchy in Britain at the present time, which is being stocked by local bookshops and some branches of Ottakers.  He self-published because he was fed up with delays from interested publishers in Great Britain.  He has a BA in English Literature from Cardiff University, is a pensioner, married with three children with hordes of grandchildren rooting about his place from time to time.  Writing short stories is a new venture for him.  His hobbies include stained glass work, walking his dog Daisy, and playing the blues on trumpet.  He is keen on flying single engine aircraft, but the cost is prohibitive at present.  He enjoys listening to Miles Davis and William Orbit and reading prose and poetry; poetry-wise he likes Sylvia Plath and will not apologize to those who consider her rather over the top and angst ridden.  williamgladys@tiscali.co.uk

Robert L. Harrison (poetry) earned a B.A. from Stony Brook University and an advanced study degree from Hofstra University in Instructional Communications.  Robert is an historian, as well as a playwright, poet and photographer.  He has researched and published articles on Long Island's historic past and has presented lectures on forgotten Long Islanders, the Island's baseball history, and presentations on Long Island poets.  Robert's plays "Bloom & O'Hara," "Confessions of a Shakespeare Addict" and "The Long Island Dead Poets Society" have all been presented on Long Island.  He has published over 400 poems in his own poetry books, as well as in magazines and literary journals.  In 1995, one of Robert's poems received a Grammy nomination in the spoken word category and he co-authored the children's book "Goblin Giggles" with Gene Fehler, published by Simon & Schuster.  Robert has served as the poetry judge for the Freeport Council of the Arts Celebration of Poetry contest for Nassau County high school students.  As a photographer, Robert has been written about in Newsday and the New York Times.  His photographs have been shown in more than 100 exhibits across Long Island.   Among his many photographic awards is a 2004 Folio Award from the Long Island Coalition for Fair Broadcasting and an Award of Excellence from the Art League of Long Island.  Robert is listed in Marquis Who's Who in America.  Recently, his work "Light Design" was picked by a curator from the Whitney Museum for the Firehouse Gallery, Nassau Community College.  harrisonbd@hotmail.com

Michael Lee Johnson (poetry) lives in Chicago, IL. after spending 10 years in Edmonton, Alberta Canada during the Viet Nam era.  He is a freelance writer and poet.   He has been published in USA, Canada,New Zealand, Australia, Scotland, Turkey, Fuji, Nigeria, Algeria, Africa, India, United Kingdom, Republic of Sierra Leone, Thailand, and Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.  Michael Lee Johnson is a member of Poets & Writers, Inc and Directory of American Poets & Fictions Writers.   He is a member of The Illinois Authors Directory Illinois Center for the Book.  He has published 145 poems in 2007 to date.  He is the author of: The Lost American: From Exile to Freedom.
He is now the publisher and editor of Poetic Legacy.   poetryman@walla.com

Dipita Kwa (poetry) was born in Tiko, Republic of Cameroon, and raised in the village of Mondoni Native.  He received a B.Sc in Economics and is still dreaming of seeing his collection of eight short stories in print after successful online publications in the Crossing Borders Magazine and ken*again.   titann5@yahoo.com

Charles Langley (prose)  returned to writing  after a fifty-nine year hiatus. He has since published over 125 short stories, poems, or articles in five books and numerous magazines.  talespin@netacc.net

Joseph Lewis
(poetry) has published poetry in various print and ezines including ken*again, Sunspinner and sometime city.  He has poems forthcoming in the regional anthology Poet's Domain.  He lives in Virginia.  ezwriter101@excite.com
 
Duane Locke (And another thing...) lives in rural Lakeland, Florida.  Duane Locke, Ph. D. (Metaphysical Poetry) has had (as of May 07) 5,877 poems published in print and e zines and 17 print and e books published.  He is also a painter, exhibited widely—a discussion of his work appears in Gary Monroe’s Extraordinary Interpretations (U of Fla press).  He has a recent exhibition, “Outsider Art” at Polk Museum.  Dr. Locke is also a photographer and has 289 photos published on the internet. He goes close-ups of tossed away trash, Mystic vegetation, visual music and nature (primarily small insects).  For more information, interviews, awards, etc. click on Google, he has quasi half-million entries and is listed in Who’s Who in America (Marquis.)
duanelocke@gmail.com

Michael Moreth (photography) is a photographer and filmmaker who lives in Chicago with his wife Helene and five parrots and is an amateur radio operator, call sign N9OGC.  He has exhibited extensively.   

J. Alan Nelson (poetry) ia a writer and a lawyer.  He published previously in Illya’s Honey, Red River Review, Adirondack Review, Red Cedar Review, Identity Theory, Hawai’i Review and Kennesaw Review and  has forthcoming work to be published in Driftwood Review and Fulcrum.
chancemet@aol.com


Ashok Niyogi (poetry) is an Economics graduate from Presidency College, Calcutta.  He made a career as an International Trader and has lived and worked in the Soviet Union, Europe and South East Asia in the ‘80s and ‘90s.  At 52, he has been retired for some years and has been cashew farming, writing and traveling.  He divides time between California, where his daughters live, Delhi and the Indian Himalayas and Goa on the Arabian Sea.   He is increasingly involved in his personal spiritual quest and has undertaken serious study of scripture.  He has published a book of poems, TENTATIVELY, [iUniverse, Lincoln, NE – 1995] and has been extensively published in magazines in the USA, UK, Australia and Canada.   Ashok writes about life.    ashokniyogi@yahoo.com

Melissa Ozaki (art)  If you ask Melissa Ozaki, “Where are you from?” she replies by joking, and says, “I am born on another island about the same size as the Big Island, but it’s a Long Island.”   From Long Island, she moved to California, settling in North County San Diego.  In 1983 she vacationed in Hawaii to celebrate her thirtieth birthday and fell in love with The Big Island.  Shortly after returning from her holoholo (vacation), she decided to relocate.  On November 1, 1984, she became a permanent resident, first settling on the Kona Coast.  In 1991, right before the birth of her second daughter, Melissa moved to Waikoloa.  If you ask her why Waikoloa is so windy, she will often respond, “They don’t call it Waikoblowa for nothing you know, and the ka makani winds blow all the bugs away.”  After receiving a gift, a box of paint supplies from her dear friend Michela Larson in 2006, Melissa began to express her love for Hawaii through watercolor.  Her whimsical style represents her child-like nature.  Painting with the kids at Waikoloa Elementary School brings her much joy.  She explains to the student that taking chances allows for your art to develop, and there is no mistakes with watercolors.  She also shares, that painting is a great way to feel free, relax and melt all troubles away.   gmjjo@yahoo.com

Rod Peckman
(poetry) says "After 16 years of writer's block, my internal editor has died of natural causes."  Since then, his work has appeared in Barnwood and The Argotist Online, and will soon be featured in Babel Fruit and Thieves Jargon.  He works for a large library system in Washington State, answering questions and teaching patrons how to use their public computers for their private concerns. His idea of perfect joy is watching his Yellow lab swim out into his small lake, retrieving the tennis ball again and again.  And again.  sternum40@gmail .com

Quentin Poulsen
(prose) is a former journalist from Wellington, New Zealand, teaching in Spain, though currently on extended vacation in Turkey.  He studied literature at Doane College in Nebraska and won a share of the university's literary award in 1993.  He is now seeking a publisher for his short novel based around the main character in Robot Mode.  quentinpoulsen@yahoo.com.au

Dan Provost (poetry) has appeared in numerous magazines and ezines.   He currently lives in the bowels of Worcester, Massachusetts.  dprovost@assumption.edu

Thomas D. Reynolds (poetry) received an MFA in creative writing from Wichita State University and teaches at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas.  In his work, he combines his interests in history, folklore, Midwestern life, and poetry.  A chapbook of his poetry,  Electricity, was published by Ligature Press of Topeka, Kansas.  Publications which have accepted his work include the following:  New Delta Review, Alabama Literary Review, Aethlon-The Journal of Sport Literature, The MacGuffin, The Cape Rock, Potpourri, American Western Magazine, The Green Tricycle, 3rd Muse Poetry Journal, Tryst, Prairie Poetry, Strange Horizons, and Miller's Pond Poetry Magazine.   tomrey8@yahoo.com

Dee Rimbaud (art) is an artist, writer and occasional new age gypsy.  He has just returned to his native Scotland after a year of living mainly in a Mercedes 609d van with his partner and child, travelling round Britain, France, Spain & Portugal.  He is author of two poetry collections, The Bad Seed (Stride, 1998) and Dropping Ecstasy With The Angels (Bluechrome, 2004); and one novel, Stealing Heaven From The Lips Of God (Bluechrome, 2004).  He edited the charity poetry anthology, The Book Of Hopes And Dreams (Bluechrome, 2006).  He also edits The AA Independent Press Guide, a free online directory of magazines and publishers, hosted on his website alongside a host of useful writers' resources, as well as a portfolio of his art and a selection of his poetry.  His art is frequently used in magazines and internet zines and has graced the book jackets of collections by Janet Buck, Rupert Loydell, Norman Jope and many others.  Dee's art is now available on t-shirts, posters, cards and assorted gift items via his CafePress shop. 
dee.rimbaud@googlemail.com

Peter Schwartz  (art) is a painter, poet and writer. He's also an associate art editor for Mad Hatters' Review.  His artwork can be seen all over the Internet but specifically at .sitrahahra.com.  He's had hundreds of paintings, poems, and stories published both online and in print and is constantly submitting new work as if his very life depended on it.  His last exhibition was through Aesthetica Magazine and featured a projection of his digital painting 'Terminal 4' on a busy street in York, UK.   pupil@watchtheeye.com

Iolanda Scripca
(poetry and prose) lived in Eastern Europe for the first 20 years of her life, in a loving family.  Her mom was a teacher and high school principal and her dad a published writer, poet and TV producer.  She is a graduate of Foreign Languages and Literatures from the University of Bucharest.  Nowadays she enjoys Southern California and possesses a CA Teaching Credential.  Ms. Scripca publishes in several Romanian-American Newspapers both in Romanian and English.  She is  married to Ron;  they own a business and enjoy traveling to exotic places.  Scripca@aol.com

Tom Sheehan (poetry and prose)'s  Epic Cures, short stories from Press 53, won a IPPY Award.  A Collection of Friends, from Pocol Press, was nominated for Albrend Memoir Award.  This Rare Earth & Other Flights, poems, was issued by Lit Pot Press.  He has nine Pushcart and two Million Writer nominations, a Silver Rose Award from American Renaissance for the Twenty-first Century (ART) and the Georges Simenon Award for Excellence in Fiction.  His novels include Vigilantes East, Death for the Phantom Receiver and An Accountable Death.  Recent work has been accepted in Australia, New Zealand, France, Turkey, China, Ireland, Scotland, England, as well as in the U.S.  He served in 31st Infantry Regiment, Korea, 1951, and retired in 1990.  He meets again soon for a lunch/gab session with pals, the ROMEOs, Retired Old Men Eating Out (92, 79, & 78).  He can hardly wait.  His pals will each have one martini, he’ll have three beers, and the waitress will shine on them.  tomfsheehan@comcast.net

Saskia van der Linden (prose)
was born and bored in 1969 in Delft, The Netherlands.  She has an MA in Dutch Language and Literature from the University of Leiden.  In 1997 she moved to England, where she held various jobs as an Administrator and Dutch Tutor, often combining the two.  After eight years she moved back to The Netherlands and is now residing in Den Haag.  By day she is a Team Assistant at Shell, by night she is a writer.  Other publications include ‘My life before I met & married Mick Jagger’ (BBC Shropshire website 2004), ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ (The Sun website 2007) and ‘No. 3840251’ (Quill & Ink website 2007).   srvdl@hotmail.com

Joanna M. Weston (poetry) is a full-time writer of poetry,short-stories, and poetry reviews.  She has been published internationally in journals, print and online, and anthologies.  She has two middle-readers, ‘The Willow Tree Girl’ and ‘Those Blue Shoes’, in print; also ‘A Summer Father’, poetry, published by Frontenac House of Calgary.  peacewoode@gmail.com 

Kelley Jean White 
(poetry) was born and raised in New Hampshire, has degrees from Dartmouth College and Harvard Medical School, and has been a pediatrician in inner-city Philadelphia for the past twenty years.  She has nearly 2,000 poems accepted or published by more than 350 journals including American Writing, The Café Review, Chiron Review, Feminist Studies, The Larcom Review, Minnesota Review, Nimrod, Poet Lore, Rattle, and Whiskey Island Magazine, as well as several chapbooks and full-length collections of poetry:  The Patient Presents I am going to walk toward the sanctuary (Via Dolorosa Press), At the Monkey-Feast Table (Zebook Company),  Late (The People's Press) and Against Medical Advice (Puddinghouse Publications.)  Ms. White received a Pushcart nomination for an experimental piece (from Gravity Presses) in 2000, her first year of submission,  and again in 2002.  She has read her work throughout the Philadelphia area and in Delaware, New Hampshire, New Jersey and New York and is a featured reader during the 2004-2005 Free Library of Philadelphia reading series.  She has been identified as a "Peace Poet," reflecting her active membership in the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) and for involvement with Poets for Peace locally, nationally, and internationally.  Her book, A Gilford Offering, was published in October 2004.   kelleywhitemd@yahoo.com 

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The Van  CL Bledsoe
Jitters/Tics
  
Melanie Cotter
Fast-food Love  
William Gladys
The Man in the Moon
  
Charles Langley

Gregory  Quentin Poulsen
A Day of December In Catalina
 
Iolanda Scripca
Charnley and Leonard the Blind Man
  Tom Sheehan
Odd job 
Saskia van der Linden

 

 


 

 

 

 

 

                                                             

The Van                                                                

by CL Bledsoe


n the parking lot, Thomas noticed a van driving with its side door open.  The woman passed behind him before he could wave at her.  He was talking to his brother on his cell phone.

"Which side was the door on?" his brother asked.

"It's an older van," he said.  "It only has one side door."

His brother let out a chuckle and yelled the story back to his wife.  "Says there's a van—"

"Ratty looking, real beat up," Thomas added.

"Piece of shit van with its passenger side door open, driving—"

"Flying.  Here it comes again," Thomas said.

"Flying through the parking lot in a big circle."

Thomas waved and tried to catch the woman's eye as she came back through but she didn't even glance his way.  He could see her puffy face, stringy blond hair, almost white.  She looked sweaty, tired.

"Didn't see me," he said.

"Maybe her door's broke," his brother said.  "What make was it?"

"I don't know.  Older.  Dodge, maybe."

He could hear his brother laughing with his wife.

"I looked at a Dodge," his brother said.  "Not worth the trouble."

"Yeah. I better get off here," Thomas said.

"Well, I'm glad you're getting out, meeting people."

"They're just other grad students.  There are only a few of us here so far.  We met at orientation."

"Big move, what you did," his brother said.  "We're all proud of you."

Thomas watched the van reach the far end of the parking lot, by the road, and circle back.

"Call us some time.  Let us know how things are going."

"I will," Thomas said, stepping out of the car.  He went to the door of the Chinese restaurant, opened it and stepped inside, still holding the phone to his ear.  A waitress came up to him.

"How many?  Just one?"

"No, I'm waiting for, well, I'm not sure how many," he said, feeling like a fool.

"A young lady?" the waitress said.  She didn't smile but seemed to be just doing her job.

"No," Thomas said.  "Well maybe, but a group.  I'll just, I'll wait.  I'll be back."

He went back out to his car and got in.  His brother had been chatting through all of this and Thomas let him go for a while longer before cutting him off again.

"I think he's here," he said.

"All right.  Well take care."

"I will."

He pressed the end button.  The van passed behind him again.  He waved at the woman, but again, she didn't see.  The side door was wide open and he could see empty fast food wrappers inside.  She turned to her right and went for another loop.  He watched her circle around the outer edge of the parking lot, which was large because they were in a sort of cluster of stores, like an overgrown strip mall.  She passed on the far side of a jewelry store and he stepped out of his car to get a better look.  The van came around the edge of the jewelry store and circled back towards where he was parked.  It was easy to see, there weren't a lot of cars in the lot right then.

The van straightened out and started down the aisle Thomas was parked in.  He waited till she was close enough to see, and stepped out in front of her, waving.  She wasn't looking.  She kept coming.  He jogged backwards for a few steps and she finally looked ahead and saw him.  She screeched on her brakes.  She stared at him through the glass as he came around to her window, which was down.

"Your door is open," he said.

Her mouth was open, too.  She reached through the open window and slapped him hard, missing his face but connecting with his shoulder.

"You damn idiot," she said.

"Your door," he said, pointing with one hand and holding his face with the other.

"What's wrong with you?"

He stepped over to the open door and slid it closed.  As an after thought, he tugged on the handle.  It was closed securely.  He stepped back to the woman's side.  She was watching him with a look of intense scorn on her face, which was round and featureless.  Not an ugly face.  Sort of like a baby's, he thought.

"You looking for someone, or something?" he asked,

"No," she said.  "Don't step out in front of me again or I'll run you over."

She hit the accelerator and sped off, turning right at the end of the row, again, and starting another loop.

He watched her swing wide around the far edge of the parking lot, and didn't notice his friend Doug pull up beside him until he honked.  Inside, the waitress led them to a large table.

"Oh, I'm it," Doug said.  "Matt couldn't make it."

"Or Hoa?" Thomas asked, hoping he was pronouncing the name right though he'd heard it only once.

"Nope.  Just me."

"There's only two of us," Thomas told the waitress.  She smiled and led them to a smaller booth.

"Saw the damndest thing," Thomas said.  He told Doug about the van.

"It's an odd place," Doug said.

They went to the buffet and filled their plates.

"What are those little crunchy things with cream cheese?"  Doug asked.

"Crab Rangoon."

"Is there crab in them?"

"Not really."

They came back, sat and ate.  Through the window, Thomas saw the van pass again.

It was awkward and so they talked about upcoming classes and proposed get-togethers.  Thomas tried not to watch the van as it came around each time.  When they were finished, they went out to their cars.  Doug got in and drove away, waving.  Thomas stood, watching the van.

It came round again.  As the woman approached, he could see that her face looked dirtier than before.  She glared at him as she passed.  He held her gaze thoughtfully as a car further down the row pulled out.  She whipped her head around just as the van slammed into the rear end of the other car, pushing it sideways. The van stopped and sat there, one brake light on.  Thomas found his feet and ran around the side of the van to the rolled down window.

The woman's head was down on the steering wheel.  She raised it and turned angry eyes to him.  He realized she was crying.

"Hey," he said. "You all right?"

"You see?" she said. "You see what you did?"

Thomas didn't know how long he stared, the eyes of this stranger hating him completely and totally.

"What the fuck, lady?  Didn't you see me?" a voice said.  Thomas realized it was the man in the car she'd just hit.  Thomas glanced at him but didn't see him.

"It was his fault," she said, pointing at Thomas.

"I was nowhere near you," the man said, mishearing her.

"It was his fault," the woman said, again.  She screamed it, "his fault!"

Thomas turned and ran back to his car.  He was out of the parking lot before he even thought to look for traffic.  He drove straight back to his apartment and didn't come out again the next day.  He sat, watching TV, waiting for the police to knock on his door for fleeing the scene, but they never came.


                                                                                                         

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Jitters/Tics                                                                  

by Melanie Cotter

 

                                                                         
he air outside the diner is so humid the sky feels fat.  Gray clouds hover about, yawning and stretching in anticipation.  Stanley James sits in a vinyl booth at the diner, waiting for Lacy Morgan.  He has one leg, the right to be specific, that bouncesup&down, bouncesup&down involuntarily.  Stanley can’t kick the habit, but often wonders if he can stop.  It only happens when he is nervous about something:  team tryouts in high school, a test about Nero’s reign in college, or breeching a subject with Lacy that is not truly any of his business.  He idly flips through the pages of a newspaper and looks out the window as the sky burps thunder.  When he looks back to his newspaper he sees her, Lacy, sliding into his booth.  Drops of water cling to her eyelashes and doodle down her face.

It isn’t raining yet.

The most expressive body parts on Lacy Morgan are her hands.  A tell-tale furrowed brow often gives away her feelings of distaste or concern, but her hands have a special response for every attitude and emotion.  They aren’t particularly beautiful.  The nails are often dull and lack that appealing gloss that most people say looks respectable.  When Lacy does paint them, she chooses Eraser Pink to be classy or “Super Green Lime Queen” to be funny, but they begin to chip within a few hours.  Her small, dainty fingers relentlessly twist napkins, pick blades of grass, or seek out bits of lint on her clothes.  She is constantly tucking in the tag of other people’s shirts.  This always draws attention.

Staring Stanley in the face, one index finder rapidly circles the rim of her coffee cup.  She sees his eyes follow it around and around.  But Lacy can tell something is different about him; his leg rattles like a chain link fence in a strong wind.  Not both, just the right leg, and she wonders if he has something in his ears throwing his equilibrium off.

“You’re crying.”

“Perhaps.”

She is glad he doesn’t ask why because she has already forgotten the specifics. There don’t need to be reasons to cry after visiting Pop.

Lacy remembers an article she read once about spiders crawling into ears as people sleep.  Perhaps Stanley has an arachnid tucked away in his ear canal and he cannot hear.  The equilibrium shatters like a spoon, and the leg bounces faster.

Stanley looks at Lacy with a sense of expectation on his face, as if a timeless question has been posed, and he waits patiently for an answer from her.  Nothing comes, so he hands her a napkin to dab her eyes instead.  She blinks once, then again.  The finger reverses directions on the cup.

 

 



                                                                                                        
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Fast-food Love                                                                                                   

by William Gladys