Grocery Gaze

 

By England Ariel Blye

 

I arrive, I place my bag into the cart and wheel along.

Flowers . . . fruits . . . Fritos

I grab my frozen fruit, away I wheel.

Chili . . . cilantro . . . cheese . . .

I grab my cheese, away I wheel.

Jelly beans . . . jalapeno . . . juice . . .

I grab my . . .  I grab my ju—

I grab my juice.

Those four eyes, as I grab my juice.

Why such a crime to grab juice?

Those pale bodies stand there

With squinted eyes that glare.

They search my soul as I grab my juice.

I can feel the hatred through their glare.

The up-and-down strokes two irises take

Almost cause me to quiver and shake.

Is it my braids? Is it my clothes? Is it my color?

As I walk away

All those two lips had to say . . .

She’s a pretty lookin’ Negro anyway.

I no longer carry only groceries,

Judgements been unintentionally placed too.

 

 

 

Gas Tank Guff

 

By England Ariel Blye

 

Outside. Cold. Icy.

Grabbing my snow scraper out the car.

Scraping the ice.

Scrape scrape scrape

Driving to the gas station.

At gas station. Pushing gas tank button.

Gas tank won’t pop open. Frozen shut.

“Oh no . . .

I know! I’ll use my snow scraper.”

Hands freezing. Cheeks stinging.

POP!

It’s open at last.

White man spotted. His gas tank? Frozen shut.

Gas station clerk arrives. Tries to assist him.

Scrape Scrape Scrape

“Sir, would you like to use my snow scraper? I used it to open my tank door.”

He’s staring. Staring at me with those prejudiced eyes.

Not a word comes from his mouth. Instead the clerk agrees to try.

She scrapes for seconds at most.

POP!

I grab my scraper. He proceeds to stare.

I listened, but no thank you from his mouth emerged.

I look into his eyes. “You’re welcome.” The power I felt there is unmatched.

I asserted dominance. I showed him how it’s done. Kindness and sass all in one.

 

 

I Thought I Saw

 

By Susan C. Burress

 

I thought I saw you standing there

in the twilight

where dusk meets day and memories

loom on the landscape.

 

Where thought 

and reality meet,

I stand looking

at the void.

 

We laughed, we planned

holidays and anniversaries,

But now my calendar

is blank again.

 

Still, I yearn 

for your presence. 

The memories

of you sustain me.  

 

 

 

Love of the Land

 

By Joshua Detherage

 

Some of the most important lessons

In life can be learned

in the dirt. Not the muck

of reality but the ground

Beneath our feet,

Among the flowers we plant

And the crops that we grow.

It's rough, but it's wholesome.

It stains but sustains.

Dare we dismiss the dirt

Beneath our feet

When the ground provides

Nourishment for our roots?

God bless those who love the land

And tend it night and day. 

They work it with sweat

And water it with tears

But bring in the harvest with joy.

 

 

 

I’ll Play the Part

 

By J.W. Short

 

What? Can I not wear a color?

Is pink such a threat to your fragile masculinity

that you have to project it on me?

 

Well, I’ll play the part.

I’ll act with no regard as our father,

who is trapped in his own masculinity,

trusts a woman not good for him—or anyone.

I’ll not tell him how bad it is

because I believe that women are nothing

but people who manipulate others. 

I have to believe this,

just like my father does.

 

Well, I’ll play the part.

I’ll consistently work myself to death to get nothing,

Like a slave in Egypt, not working for myself at all.

All simply because I’m supposed to be the man of the house.

That is, if I even know what

being a man really means.

 

Well, I’ll play the part.

Anytime anyone brings up anything, I’ll make it sexual.

Women are nothing but objects, after all.

Oh, and don’t forget the not-so-subtle racist remarks.

My wife? Nothing but a bitch

who only makes things worse.

 

Day after day, this is the part that you continue to play.

Well, I won’t play this part.

The role in which I was casted is different,

and I’m proud of it.

Even if you aren’t tickled by it,

I’ll wear the color pink.

 

 

 

Earth

 

By J.W. Short

 

I have to be strong, like you want me to be.

Unmovable, concrete.

But I’m not. I’m anything but that.

Wear a hat, like a man, you say.

A hat doesn’t change who I am.

 

The pressure to be what you want

hits me like water and wind hit rocks.

Each time your jeers hit me

they erode my self-confidence.

I want to be my own rough, rigid diamond.

Time and a bit of healthy pressure

is all I need to become the rock I want to be.

But you don’t see that.

I have to endure your earthquake,

It’s what you think is best.

Sometimes, higher magnitudes are too much to bear.

Rocks crumble.

Nothing left.

 

 

A Monster Story

By Jenny Brunner

​

            Melissa Brown rushed to her bicycle the moment the final bell rang at school. Children flooded into the school yard as they filed onto buses, met their parents who came to pick them up, or to ride home on their bicycles just like Melissa was doing. She didn’t live too far away and she always stayed on the sidewalk just like her mom instructed her. Her mom allowed her to ride her bike home when she turned eleven earlier in the year and Melissa loved to ride her bike with its high handles and sky blue paint around the neighborhood. There was a small hill just two streets away from her home that she always coasted down, which she always found exhilarating. She planned on riding it down today before heading to the store. She had saved two dimes from her allowance and her mother said it was okay if she wanted to buy herself a bottle of Coca Cola and a candy bar after school.

            The houses rushed past her as she pedaled her way through the sidewalks. Her satchel backpack was beginning to weigh on her back and she worried if the straps were rubbing on her new yellow and green sweater vest. She didn’t think on it for long because her favorite hill was coming up. She excitedly turned the corner, but had to stop. There were big trucks in the road and men cutting away at a large tree limb in the road with chainsaws. She also spotted a few other men beginning to cut down a large pine tree that was dangerously leaning onto the sidewalk. She remembered her dad always remarking on that tree when they drove by, saying how it was bound to fall into the road one of these days because of the rot it was developing. It looked like it was finally starting to come down.

            She looked at the sidewalks. There was a lot of debris flying from the chainsaws and the trucks blocked the road.

“Well, shucks,” she said to herself. She saw a brown car coming from the other side. She watched as they pulled into a driveway and backed out into the street to return to the direction they had come from. She guessed she’d have to do the same thing. She circled back to the previous street and made her way down the first corner she met. Her dad had showed her a detour she could take if the road was ever blocked off, but only wanted her to use it if she really needed it. It was a longer route to get home and there was a portion of the way where there weren’t any houses. It didn’t take long to reach this part, and very soon Melissa was surrounded by green grass with trees dotted on her right. She could still see the neighborhoods on her left, however, and her dad had driven here enough times for her to know where she was going. All she needed to do was continue on this road before it reconnected to the suburbs.

            It was nice here, honestly. She stayed on the edge of the smooth road and it was easy to pedal. The sun shone on her and she thought about the cool refreshing taste of soda with the sweet creamy texture of chocolate. She couldn’t wait to get to the store and so she pedaled even faster. But as she did so, the straps on her backpack came loose and ripped, causing her things to tumble down from the side of the road.

            “Oh, c’mon!” she exclaimed as she halted her bike. She turned back around and got off where her things had fallen, setting the kick stand out so her bike would stand just next to the road. The ground dipped into a mostly flat piece of land, with a few small mounds here and there, with a few small trees and shrubs dotted on the grass. Fortunately, she saw her things scattered next to the road and she bent down to pick them up and put them back into her backpack.

            She was able to get most of her things, but she noticed that a few papers and one of her books trailed down away from the road and ,with her backpack still in hand, carefully treaded down the steep grass to get the rest of her things. She had almost everything when she noticed her green folder had managed to be blown by one of the mounds. There was something sticking out of it, and as she came closer she saw from the side that it was a large pipe like the kind that was used to drain excess water. She had seen these large pipes before and she used to play around one nearby a creek with her friends. Her folder was near the front of the pipe and as she walked around she saw that there were bars covering the entrance. A large mass was sitting behind those bars.

            It took her a few seconds to realize what she was seeing. She thought it was a large man with tattered clothes, but she quickly saw the fur peeking out from his neck and arms, the claws on his hands and feet, and the small horns peeking out from his head. Yellow eyes stared back at her in horror. She screamed and jolted back, tripping over one of her broken straps. The thing in the pipe jolted back as well.

            “What are you?” Melissa managed to blurt out. They were both motionless for a while as they just stared at each other. His eyes were wide and he curled his arm around his legs as if ready to protect himself from a strike. He huddled against the inside of the pipe, frozen, waiting to see what she would do next. She slowly propped herself back up, never breaking her gaze. “What are you?” she asked again.

            The creature seemed to relax his muscles and propped his head a little closer to the opening. His mouth moved and Melissa could see large sharp teeth shining in the dark. Finally, he spoke in a deep, coarse voice that raised goosebumps on Melissa’s arms.

            “I am me, I suppose,” said the creature. He tightened his arm around his legs and shrunk his head back into his shoulders as they continued staring at each other.

            Melissa wasn’t sure what to think about what she was seeing. There was no way that this could be happening.

            “But are you human?” she asked.

            He took a moment to respond. “I’m afraid not.”

            “What are you, then?” She got herself firmly back on her feet.

            “I don’t know,” he replied, his voice growing softer. “I don’t know.”

            She stood there for a moment. He didn’t look quite human, that was for sure.  His appearance was unsettling, to say the least, as he remained huddled inside the dark pipe. The bars in the opening were thick and sturdy, with a little rust running down some of the sides. They were somewhat close together, too close for the creature to slip through.

“Wait,” he said in a clearly worried voice. “Where are you going?”

“Going home.” she replied as she increased the distance between them.

“Are you going to tell someone you saw me?’ He moved closer to the opening and grasped one of his big hands on a bar. Melissa stopped, not sure whether she wanted to respond or not. Despite the darkness in the pipe, she could see the concern on his face and she thought that he looked like how a prisoner would look in a jail cell. “Please, please don’t tell anyone you saw me.”

“And why not?” Melissa said, grasping at the hem of her vest.

“Because they might come after me.” he said “That’s what always happens. I get found and people start hunting me, chasing me away with fire and guns.”

“You look pretty big and strong,” Melissa said, trying to get a grasp of how this creature was really like in how he acted and reacted. He seemed rather afraid for something so scary-looking, and this was not something she had expected. “Why would you be so worried?”

“Because they will try to kill me! Please don’t go and tell! I know I look scary and I frighten people, but I don’t want any trouble. I know how in stories monsters are always bad and do harm, and I understand why you would think that, I really do. I don’t blame you. I can’t go out. I can’t be seen. But it’s so dark and damp down here. There is dirty water everywhere and it has such a terrible smell. I just wanted to see some sun and get some fresh air, is all.”

Melissa could hear a quiver in his voice as he spoke. She had to admit that she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.  He knew he was scary-looking, he couldn’t help that, and he was pleading to her as if his life was now in her hands. Still, she didn’t like this situation and remained where she was. He remained quiet for a while.

“What are you doing here, if you don’t mind?” he eventually asked. “Not many people stop by here.”

“My backpack fell apart as I was riding my bike and my things fell here.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No.” She tried to peer at the darkness behind him. “Are you the only one down there?”

He solemnly nodded. “I am.”

“Gosh, it must get lonely,” she said. He stayed in his spot the entire time and seemed to relax the longer she stayed still. There were times where he looked away and his gaze was quiet, almost sad, in those moments.

“It does, but I'm used to it most days,” he said. “I’ll be honest with you, I’m kinda glad you came down here. I haven’t talked to anyone in so long.”

After a moment, Melissa slowly walked toward the pipe so she could get a better view of the creature. His eyes widened again, but he remained still. She stopped a good distance away and stood there examining him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Frankly, you shouldn’t exist,” she said bluntly. “That’s what I’m trying to wrap my head around. Monsters aren’t real. They're just the stuff of children’s stories.”

He was quiet for a few seconds. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He looked at her for a moment before looking away to the ground in front of him. His eyes rested on the green folder that had blown its way here. “Is that one of your things?”

“It is.” She tightened her grasp on the backpack in her hand.

He moved his head around like a curious dog would, trying to read the writing. ‘What does it say on it?”

“It says ‘Melissa Smith’. It’s my name.”

“Melissa?”

“And what’s your name?” she asked, thinking it fair if he said his, too.

“I’d give you mine if I had one.”

“You don’t even have a name?”

“No.” He returned his attention to the folder. It was dangerously close to a puddle of murky water near the opening of the pipe, something she was taking note as well. She bit her lip, knowing that her arithmetic work was in there. She tried to calculate whether or not the folder was in his reach since she didn’t want to risk getting too close to him. He never looked mean this entire time and she was beginning to think that perhaps he really was a kind thing despite his appearance. He really did look lonely, almost sad really, and she felt sorry for him.

“Well, can you do me a favor?” she asked.

His eyes lit up. “Yes?”

“Can you see if you can reach that folder for me? It has my homework in it, and my teacher will scold me if I don’t turn it in tomorrow. If you can get it, just toss it over to me.”

“Yes, I'll do that.” He reached one of his big muscular arms from between the bars toward the folder. The clumps of hair in his upper arm were matted and dirty, and his skin looked thick and rough. She could clearly see the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips as he struggled to reach the folder.  His large figure leaned against the sturdy bars, but his hand remained only a few inches away.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to reach it.”

“That’s okay, “she said. A breeze came by, causing the folder to flutter closer to the puddle ever so slightly. She bit her lip. “How about this? You stay right there and I’ll get it?”

“Alright. I won’t move if it makes you feel better.”

“Promise?”

“I promise, Melissa.”

She took a deep breath and cautiously walked toward the pipe. She kept her eyes on him to make sure he wouldn’t move. He kept his hands on the bars as he watched the folder being blown closer to the puddle. She bent her knees as she drew even closer, the soil beneath her feet softening from the countless times water poured onto it. She was a few feet, two feet, a foot away from the folder. She leaned forward to try to close the gap between her hand and the green folder. She kept looking back and forth between the creature and her objective. So far, he kept his promise. He didn’t move an inch.

She scooted her feet and her muscles strained as she leaned even farther. Her fingers finally brushed against the edge of the folder before finally getting a firm hold of it.

In that instant, the creature rushed his arm out from between the bars like a cat pouncing on a mouse. In a mere second, his hand tightly grasped her wrist and pulled her with a mighty force toward him.

There was a scream. Then there was silence.