“That’s all, Dad. We’re not going out anywhere, I promise.” “Fine. Give Lyssa’s clothes back to her. Now sit down and let’s get started before everything gets cold. All right, Bobby, go ahead.” Once again they joined hands around the table and bowed their heads for Bobby’s shortened grace. ͣͣ With the twins settled in their beds – but not without complaining that it was still light outside – Tyne returned to the kitchen to pour two cups of freshly brewed coffee. She added fresh cream and carried them outside to where Morley sat on the porch swing. “Where’s Bobby?” Tyne asked as she handed him a mug and sat down beside him. “Doing a final round in the barn and taking Sparky for a run.” Tyne sighed. “Poor old Sparky. I don’t think he’ll be with us much longer, do you?” Morley took a sip of coffee and shook his head in the negative. “No, I’m afraid not. He’s lived longer than most big dogs live. But he’s not suffering, just losing energy and his zest for life.” Tyne placed her hand on Morley’s where it lay on his knee. “It will break Bobby’s heart when Sparky dies. They’ve been inseparable since the day I brought the kids home for what was supposed to be a temporary stay with us.” She laughed lightly with the memory. Morley took her hand in his big one and squeezed it. “Almost ten years ago. Can you believe it? I sometimes wonder how we did it all with everything that went wrong that first year.” Tyne smiled and turned her head to kiss him on his stubbled cheek. “You know how we did it. Only with prayer and God’s faithful guidance.” They sat quietly for a few minutes as the swing moved gently back and forth. The only sounds were the familiar bawl of a calf in the barn, and from the chicken house close by, the rising and falling murmur of
Cougar The Circle H Ranch Willow Springs, Montana It was noon the next day by the time Joel returned to the ranch from Cindy’s place. Fortunately, it was a Sunday and there were not any plans for work. Thanks to the foresight of his father, the pastures were configured so that they had their own natural springs that continued to run even in the driest years, so there was lots of good grass in the fields for his equine friends to feast on. After a lovely breakfast with Cindy, Joel had bid her goodbye, leaving Cindy to retrieve little Lila from her grandmother’s care. The day went by quickly, and other than a little clean up around the yard, including firing up the lawn mower, cutting the grass around the house, and watering the flowers, Joel spent most of the day reveling in the activities of the previous night—and what a night it had been! As he climbed into his own bed, he could still smell the fragrance of Cindy on his skin. He was thinking that he may never shower again, and then Joel pleasantly drifted off to sleep with memories of the previous night dancing in his mind. The scream could only be described as blood curdling. He had never heard anything like it before. He woke in an instant and was soon joined in the bedroom by Buddy, who was so terrified that he was shaking. There the scream was again. Joel didn’t know what it was, but he sure didn’t like it. As he climbed into his jeans and threw on his shirt, he didn’t have a clue of what he was about
Part of the newspaper unfolded like an umbrella in the rain; a squeezed piece of paper like a human heart. What I do frightens me but what I don’t do tyrannizes me; (we share pain along with things like the garbanzo beans during the Saint Marina’s celebration.) A piece of paper I placed in the wet ditch and now I stretch it on my knee to become like an ironed shirt that even if the by chance word you wrote once was forever erased.
Translucent Restless wind ally of rocky monsters let reasons be learned and fear vanish from my child’s heart that only you remain by my side a jester who believed in games result of the abstract I am in your incessant longing destined for movement grafting my measure of joy and festive adornment of your eternal beauty, oh, tree top dance upon the shining rays sometimes jealous of your reflection upon the laughter of the sea
– There’s something about these chips, Mr. Cameron says. – Not as good, are they? Mrs. Cameron agrees. Aren’t as crunchy as ours. – Nowhere near, Reggie Cameron replies. He extends an open hand for further testing. In the back seat, Larry lifts a buttock and releases a burst of sharp anal burps. He elbows me and says, Do your parents allow you to behave this way at home? The postman reported seeing a naked woman in the park. Later she was spotted atop the Kennedys’ garage. She twisted her ankle in the jump. A crowd gathered. – Get the butterfly net! someone cackled. It’s escaped again! Almost everyone laughed. After the ambulance had left and the looky-loos dispersed, Mrs. Cameron knocked on our door. Kids had nicknamed her Meat on account of her bulk. Camping will do the boy good, she told my dad. The two of them sat on the stairs watching her Reg give the Impala a good scrubbing. He buffed the chrome until it gleamed. – I used to be a little nutty myself, she said. We got one of the last campsites at Oceanview Resorts in Birch Bay. Mr. Cameron pitched a family-size tent while Mrs. Cameron barbecued some burgers. Larry and I erected a nylon pup tent. – If I get any broads in here, Larry said, you’ll have to take a walk. We lifted our bicycles from the roof rack and took a spin. Some of the other vacationers had motorhomes and vans, but many, like the Camerons, were sleeping under canvas. Most vehicles at the campsite bore Canuck plates. After lunch we drove into town. Birch Bay consists of a smattering of stores and clapboard cottages facing Juan de Fuca Strait. Droves of oiled tourists fanned out on the sand. The main road was clogged with slow-moving cars blasting loud music. Well it’s been building up inside of me For oh I don’t know how long . . . We parked the car and fell in with the procession of shoppers.
Night The invisible mountain range at a distance I stand in the black frame of the door and call the name of God in the snowstorm of stars amid the diaphanous shadow of people who sleep and die in the wilderness which recasts my voice into thousands of voices Where did they all go leaving me here to stare at my empty palms to keep company to silence and rain? Deeply grieved up to the point of death I see the desolate sky and I salute a big cloud and I am like a sad little lamb that they left alone in the dark valley Oh God why have they all left from my side? In my ripped clothes I have a tender heart made of birds and flowers (How many nights I cried secretly for the wound of the butterfly) Let all leave Let all leave I will again stay opposite the wide sky opposite the great sea without bitterness and grumble and I shall sing Let all leave The more I stay alone the closer to people I get the closer I am to God
ridiculously low prices; even the children may not have fetched much, being offspring of immigrants. Life was indeed a struggle, as the first four boys arrived into their care. My initial memories of that farm include a vague vision of a gray two-storey frame house and chickens all over the yard. The chickens I remember looking at in some puzzlement, from an upstairs bedroom window, and wondering as to their relationship to me. I also remember the big blocks of “relief” cheese which mother sliced on the kitchen table; however, I do not remember whether or not I liked it. It seemed to me that the weather was always sunny, perhaps because we were only let out when the sun shone. My most vivid early memory is associated with the 1938 Beeston school Christmas concert at which time I was three and a half years old, having been born in May of 1935. I remember not the concert itself, having slept through most of it, but being awakened in my Uncle Mike’s arms by the noise of Santa’s arrival. Obviously my name was called and my Uncle hastened forward with me to see Santa, who scared me half to death before presenting me with a red toy truck. I have liked trucks and have been leery of long-haired men ever since! We lived in our home until the spring of 1940 at which time my parents bought a 320 acre tract of virgin land from the Hudson Bay Company, seven and one half miles north of Hubbard. Where is Hubbard, you ask? Half way between Goodeve and Ituna or, to locate it another way, about 100 miles northeast of Regina. The new land had not seen a plough. The neighbors had pastured cattle on it over the years, otherwise not a tree had been cut nor a stone picked. All this was about to change. But first a house had to be built to …
Emotionless The seething angst of lust spreading unwillingly over hierodule’s skin unaccustomed to feeling emotion, unable to participate in the lovemaking she had only to provide, a vessel she was at the altar of Aphrodite a useful female at the pleasure of men visiting, men always visit a temple standing by the hillside, men always seeking the seething lust in burning flesh of the hierodule who performs her duty to the lustful Goddess asking for nothing but their due honor as free servants, no royalties paid or asked for, no penalties charged on unappreciative males who cared about their satisfaction and left the pleasure of female or her Goddess to the hands of elements scheming their revolution the seething angst of lust demands her body’s contours and dark caves on the altar of Aphrodite deserving unemotional dedication, like any archon sitting up high, like any God jealous or self-absorbed and relaxed and truly the hierodule too will one day sit at the big table of the selected few, one day she too will be named the heroine of the goddess wasn’t she after all another true believer? Wasn’t she too a true little unrepentant Christian?
Manolis Aligizakis 