They say that it’s possible
To drown in an inch of water.
All it takes
Is for our mouths and noses
To remain under,
Unable to inhale fresh air,
Our hands and arms
Unable to lift our bodies
Out of that mere bit of liquid.
What was once life-giving is now death-dealing.
So,
If that tiny depth can bring my demise,
Then a similar petite width
Can bring about a horrible
Irreparable separation.
If my arms cannot extend
To heal the distance
And if my arms cannot reach
Past my body,
Then that mere inch
Can keep two people so far apart.
Small spaces can cause the deepest of rifts.
APN.
Copyright 05/27/2007
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I’m not a fan of clichés or convenient metaphors.
They’re easy and safe, trite and overused.
But they’re clichés for a reason,
Since at one time,
They held weight.
They had power.
They used to be worth something.
And it’s for that reason,
It’s quite understandable how I can
Latch onto the idea of a
Deep, dark, drowning ocean,
Hoping to hold onto any passing sense of meaning
Like it was the last remaining board
From my once-gorgeous vessel.
///
This long, slender scrap of wood keeps me afloat
But just barely. Read the rest of this entry »
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Cassandra (Cassy) MacLeod:
With an intense energy that’s coupled with a razor-sharp wit, this firebrand makes herself known wherever she might be. With a blazing temper that’s matched only by the color of her hair, this 16-year-old loudmouth has spent her entire life telling people just what she thought about them. Born to workaholic yuppies who, after divorcing when she was barely 2 years old, gave her anything and everything except themselves, Cassy was truly raised by afternoon and primetime television programs. She is truly a textbook, latchkey kid – every child psychologist’s dream client. Thank God she had her Granny and Pop – her Dad’s parents.
Cassy’s father (Donald) is a MBA-holding, Senior Vice-President for an auto parts company who had recently relocated to Northern California to be closer to his company’s home offices. His ex-wife, Cassy’s mother (Rachael), is an orthopedic surgeon who’s just moved back to her hometown of Boston, MA after 15 years of living in Greenville, NC. Donald and Rachael met while attending Duke University together back in the early-‘80s: he was Greenville born-and-bred who set off to college to study general business while working nights at the same auto parts store he worked at in High School and she came from Old Boston Money down to the South so she could study Biology and rebel against her parents’ dreams, plans, and wishes. He was her proletarian grease monkey; she was his gorgeous ticket out of the trailer park. Read the rest of this entry »
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Part One can be found at my friend Jeff’s blog.
“Hey kid! What do you think you’re doing here?†exclaimed the sweaty fry cook.
He shuffled quickly out of the kitchen, thrusting open the swinging door that led to the seating area. His stubby legs stopped their movement right in front of the most recent addition to his restaurant. Wiping his greasy hands onto his perpetually stained apron, he peered upwards at the perceived intruder.
“We don’t serve your kind in this restaurant!†he screeched in a high-pitched voice. “This is a family establishment. The last thing that I want is for some snot-nosed punk kid coming in here and scaring away my customers with his bedraggled looks. Don’t you have somewhere else to be?â€
The beleaguered youth, soon to leave his teenaged years, tilted his gaze upwards. Read the rest of this entry »
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