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Darkness Smells like Roses I blew the stray eyelash off of her cheek. She shivered as my breath brushed across her skin, but she didn't wake up. Instead she nuzzled the back of her head further into my shoulder and kept on sleeping, her even breath keeping time with the grandfather clock next to the couch we were on. My arm was falling asleep, but I couldn't bear to move it and wake her. I also couldn't fall asleep. I never sleep when I spend the night with her. All I can do is lay still and silent, watching her chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. There was a clawing noise against the cloth covering the back of the couch. Puddles, Emily's

I'll never forget the day I first tried to hold Sand in the palm of my hand. It Slipped out from between my Fingers. It found Small crevices and fell back to the Earth at my feet. When I was a child my mother told me "Life is only as much as you make it And love is no less than you can dream it." Now she resents my father, and he Has retreated to a place where no one can find him. Sometimes I wonder what happened to their dreams. Remember when to run was to be free? Feeling the dew between our toes as we Ran in the pale light of a spring morning. Fences didn't stop us, only the calls of our parents Or lungs that couldn't d

There's never been a night I wanted to whisper in your ear more Than I do tonight. To shape the cold breeze, And the pattering rain, And to open your mind to mine. I want to lay my thoughts out like a morbid canvas; Spread the brain, Press out the creases, And show you the vivid colors swirling inside. If I was a painter I could show you that world with a twitch of my wrist. I could set before you the pictures, The snapshots of my life; Pick painful colors, And joyful ones, And mesh them together to form a masterpiece; Only to make you understand. But a painter I am not, and my brain remains inside of me. I am just a poor m

I saw you today. My eyes caught yours Through two panes of glass, Forty feet, And the shots your gaze fired redefined Drive by shooting. Hey there sweetheart. I wish I could touch you, Feel the sweat on the palms of your hands, Taste the saltiness in the crook of your neck, Run my hands through your tangled morning hair. You are still the China Doll I remember. Your face as white as a crack addicts dream And your facade nearly as fragile. You are still, Motionless, Caught in the One-two-three One-two-three Of my dancing memory. Or maybe I am the one dancing; Moving in set patterns, Waltzing to a three-step beat

Noah Nelsen Gross My Queen "Ave Maria, Gratia plena…" It's Ave Maria today. My Aunt Pat's voice warbles along with the crackling recording. I sit in the corner, eating ham, savoring the salty flavor in the way only a twelve year-old boy can. I watch her move amongst the plants in her living room, almost dancing from flower to flower, the watering can her partner as she nourishes her only children. And the music. Sometimes it is Mozart, other times Puccini, but today it is Franz Schubert. I gnaw on my briny pork as she disappears into the kitchen with her empty watering can. She floats back in and walks over to my corner. "Come here,

"Ave Maria, Gratia plena…" It's Ave Maria today. My Aunt Pat's voice warbles along with the crackling recording. I sit in the corner, eating ham, savoring the salty flavor in the way only a twelve year-old boy can. I watch her move amongst the plants in her living room, almost dancing from flower to flower, the watering can her partner as she nourishes her only children. And the music. Sometimes it is Mozart, other times Puccini, but today it is Franz Schubert. I gnaw on my briny pork as she disappears into the kitchen with her empty watering can. She floats back in and walks over to my corner. "Come here," she says while offering me

September 11, 2001 Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani? Oppressive silence.   The grim faces of the faculty Mechanically pushing us into orderly lines, Attempting control amidst chaos. Confused Catholic children, Unaware, watching, waiting, Told to "gather and just pray." The beads, cold against my soft fingers, The systematic tic…tic…as I finished each "Hail Mary, full of grace…" Slowly realizing that Something wasn't right. My mother's limp gaze as I got home, Three hours early. Her eyes full of tears, And for the first time, Prayers on her wetted lips. The flickering TV screen, Pictures flashing, Stric

The Maze The stone Is rough and weathered Against the child's palm. The ivy Tickles the tips of his fingers As it inches toward the sun. The breeze Sighs and settles, Draping across his shoulders. He blinks, Smiles a child's wondrous smile, And walks, Running his fingers across the callused stone. The shadows lengthen, Yet the child keeps walking, Still caressing the riddled stone. He keeps his pace, Inching toward the fading sun, Until the stone walls break before him. He pauses lightly And exhales in wonder At the sight of the seraphic garden. The child floats forward Into the ivory gazebo, Sits upon a snowy bench,

Off of Seamus Heaney's Punishment I can feel the snug fit of his hat on the crown of his head, the wind on his bare ears. It blows his nose to cherry sniffles, it tousles the graying locks of his hair. I can see his steel eyes against the sky, the weighing guilt, the artful wrinkle and tear. Towering artist, before you saw me you were sunny-eyed, faithful, and your crows-feet smile was unforced. My precious man, I could have loved you, but would have broken you, I know, like I already have. I am the Prima Donna of your guilt exposed and bloodied veins pumping perpetual chauvinism, and all your fallen faults: I who l

A Christmas Surprise A single snowflake fell lazily and lit on my nose; settled in the crook between the tip and the trophy bump I have from when I broke my nose as a child. I crinkled my nose and shook, but stopped as I remembered. Sara says I look like a cute little bunny when I do that, and I turn a severe shade of red every time, so I try to catch myself when I can, keep my cheeks from the rosy blush she loves to laugh about. I shook one more time, sniffed a little, and smiled to myself. I slammed the car door shut and looked down the quaint, snow-covered cul-de-sac. I chuckled and kept smiling; this was the perfect Christmas. I had been