Rained
Bronze statue peels off
night rain
is portico to sparrow
roosted, looking up at
colossus he shivers
waits for shard of sun, he will pop up
take charge of the plaza call mates
as you lift your fork
before you carve flesh
of potato I stare at your
smiling lips and daydream
of the magnificent ‘o’
they’ll form on my
hardened penis
excerpt
Six people crowded the car as it sleeked through the night, climbing into the mountains on winding, unlit roads. Nora sat in the back between Susan and Ian. Ian smelt her perfume, and it tantalised him. He pressed closer to her in the shadows. His left arm rested along the top of the seat. Nora, leaning her head back with a contented sigh, touched Ian’s arm and sat up straight again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘That’s all right. Lie back if you want to.’
‘No, I’m fine,’ she said disingenuously.
Clifford slowed the car almost to a stop, then swung it to the left down a steep, stony, track not much wider than the car, its headlights illuminating the constricting dry-stone walls. He eased the car round a corner into a grassy yard in front of a small, two-storeyed, white-washed, slate-roofed cottage.
‘Home from home,’ he said. ‘Country style.’
Clifford cut the car’s bright beams, plunging the passengers into pitch darkness. Then the interior lights came on as the Bentley doors opened. Ian took Nora’s hand and helped her out.
‘Thank you, kind sir.’ She bobbed him a little curtsey. Even in the gloom Ian caught her captivating smile.
The cottage was dark. Everyone stood in a huddle inside the door till Clifford located and lit an oil lamp. Then they moved into the room and looked around at the white-washed walls; the old, dark-toned, wooden table; the dresser; the chairs; the big, deep, well-used armchair beside the hearth. In the spacious fireplace a fire was already set. All it took was a dash of paraffin oil and a lighted match and the flames and sparks were leaping in a crackling frenzy into the large, blackened chimney. On the mantelpiece an old pendulum clock stood at rest between two creamy china dogs. On the dresser shelves an array of blue, willow-patterned plates and cups and large, stout mugs with blue rings gleamed in the light of the fire and the lamp. Fiona lit a second lamp.
‘This is just heavenly,’ Susan exclaimed in a high, excited voice. ‘John, wouldn’t you just love to live in a place like this?’
excerpt
The door to Millie’s hospital room opened. Tyne came to with a start
and realized she had been dozing. The book she had been reading
clattered to the floor as she got unsteadily to her feet. Two doctors,
still in surgical scrubs, came into the room which had grown dim in
the fading light from the window. But she could see that Dr. Dunston
led the way, his face grim. Tyne’s heart thudded against her chest wall
as she stood rigid, waiting for him to speak. But when he stood aside
and motioned his companion forward, she thought her heart would
totally stop.
“Tyne … uh … Mrs. Cresswell, this is Dr. Osborne, the surgeon
from Medicine Hat.”
He stepped forward with his hand out. “I believe we’ve met,” he
said quietly, his eyes riveted on her face, “a long time ago. We both
worked at the Holy Cross. I’m Peter Osborne.”
“Of course,” Tyne said as she shook his hand. “You were Cam
Tournquist’s friend.”
“That’s right, we were both surgical interns.” He took a deep
breath. “Sorry, I’m sure you’re not feeling up to small talk right now.
You’re anxious about your aunt.”
“Yes,” Tyne whispered, “how is … is she all right?”
“Please sit down, Mrs. Cresswell, and rest assured that she came
through the surgery. She’s just waking up in the OR.”
Tyne’s sigh of relief stopped short when she realized both doctors
looked too serious to be announcing good news
excerpt
“Then, go where your heart takes you and don’t worry about a thing, my
darling. It is your path; take it. I’ll be very happy and proud of you.”
Cathy stands up with her last words and hugs Emily.
“Oh, Cathy, I still wonder sometimes whether I’m doing the right thing.”
“Of course you are, darling! What are you supposed to do, sit back and be a
widow? That’s not your style; then again, look at it from this point of view. No
matter what happens down the road, you cannot look at yourself in the mirror
when you are old and say, ‘Pity I didn’t have the guts to take the chance when I
had it.’ You just go where your heart takes you and make the best of it.”
“Yes, and no regrets, okay?” Emily laughs with delight at Cathy’s way of
thinking.
“Never regret anything; just make the best of life and that’s it.”
Newspapers
Papers sell worthy events
the kiss prince charming gave
princess wild
fold your heroes in pages
wrinkled and part ripped
packaged kilo of red mullets
secretly they rise your heroes
moistened by fish gills and scales
they ascend declaring to the kitchen
and to olive oil smoking in the pan
their innocence of youth
erased dreams and ambitions
ROMIOSINI
…Come you oh woman who broods on the golden
eggs of thunderbolts –
when an azure day comes you’ll take off the headscarf
and again take up arms
that May’s hailstorm will beat your forehead
that the sun will break a pomegranate in your cotton apron
that alone you will divide seed by seed
among your twelve orphans
that the shore will shine around you like the edge of a sword
and April’s snow
so that the crab will come out from the rocks to sunbathe
and cross its claws…
Imperishability
Words we never said, words with
the distant echo of the night, futile words
flowing emotions that followed
the body’s shape, passing women,
unfulfilled desires with no reciprocation,
perhaps with no desire to exist.
Many dead shells, petrified,
that slowly cover the tongue,
bronchus, lungs, the underwater
parts of this abandoned ship.
excerpt
FROZEN SALMON
…worst of all had occurred when a passenger couldn’t hold his or her
bowel and the cab would turn into a crapping space, which would
take two good hours of disinfecting and cleaning before one would
be allowed to take another fare. It happened to Costa once, when he not
only lost most of his shift, but he also had to do the cleaning, to boot.
The driver’s thoughts kept him busy as he travelled over the Granville
Street Bridge, and upon reaching Broadway, he turned to the right,
and after two miles of distance, he turned left on Blenheim Street, which
would take them to the reservation. He noticed that his customers were
half-asleep; yet the stench of their breathing forced him to open his
window to get some fresh air. Night had fallen when they arrived at the
Indian reservation community, although towards the west, there were
some bright gleams of the sunset that no one paid attention to. Such
romantic images weren’t important since his customers struggled as
they searched their pockets for the money to pay the fare.
“Where is your money?” the white man asked the Indian, who
pretended he didn’t follow his buddy’s question, and he started getting
out of the car.
“Where are you going?” the driver asked angrily, “Who’s paying
the fare? Eleven sixty…” he indicated to them, pointing at the meter.
They stared at each other. No word was spoken. No fart or any
other foul smell was detected. Then, the Indian showed his middle
finger, as if to say, you know what a man means when he raises his
middle finger to someone and now Costa was angry since the fare
turned into something dramatic. Nonetheless, he had not the slightest
inclination to forego his fare for these two assholes. Costa grabbed
the white man by the sleeve and yelled,
“Eleven dollars and sixty cents, or I call the cops.”
They both started searching their pockets again. No money was
found.
“I don’t have a dime…” the Indian said.
“I don’t…” the white guy said, “you knew I had nothing left, I
bought the last round, don’t you remember?” he said in a questioning
way, then he suggested, “Ask your wife for a twenty-dollar bill.”
excerpt
involuntary emotion spreading over the citizens of Kamloops
and their houses complimenting the golden hues left by the westerly
walking sunlight. In such serene moments one could almost
feel that things could slowly fall back in their normal places and
all animosities would subside to become benevolence as the balance
of the universe might again find its place among people and
the darkness brought about by the egos of the few could slowly
dissipate so life could return to normal even in the lives of savages
and beasts.
Mary looked flushed and excited as she met Anton. She
fell in his arms and her eyes searched in his as if to find a response
to her sudden entrance, a positive nod for her loving greeting
and Anton noticed her wish in her beautiful smiling eyes and he
responded in a pleasing way.
“How are you?” she asked him “why you came back?”
“I had a little time before supper and thought of passing by
and perhaps meet you…I’m going to meet a newspaper reporter
later on and I plan to give him some detail out of Dylan’s diary…
the Kamloops Daily News has a piece about the death of Father
Thomas.”
Her mind went to what happened that night and also to
the missing siblings and was ready to remind Anton her earlier
question about their whereabouts when Anton opened up to give
her what he knew.
“I took them to the Indian Reserve on Paul Lake Road,
left them with the chief of the Band.”
“How, where you found them?” her voice showed her anxiety
about the wellbeing of the two siblings and how Anton took
them to the Reserve.
He explained to her that George had brought them to him,
that they had found George at his place and the rest of the story.
Archer of the Unfeasible
I’m very late
my past is an ancient enigma
one thousand-year-old man
in eternal youth
who has sailed
since eons
shattering the events
into silence
horizon
the myth of time
in the history of lost
opportunities
I’m very late
hung between my meaning
and the flashes of fate
I lie where the season brought me
spender of the unfeasible
confessor of the opposite shore instincts
without what I wanted
a soul to love
where the light narrates
the tree reminiscent
in the chaos
Manolis Aligizakis 