Travel log, day 2



Moonless night
feeling so delicate
sunless day
content with clouds
soul-less carcass
a waste of a heartache
for a one-nighter on holiday

Dappled sacrificial lambs
lined up in twos
they don’t ask directions
every need met
if not the luxuries
what once were martyrs
now enjoy easy Sunday dinners


The holidays can be brutal


One day after a couple argues
she, a carving novice
hacking into roast turkey
with a cranberry stain
in the middle of his chest

The dining room swirling before her
into a painting by Dali
hearing his voice far away
something about irony. How
he thinks it means something

As her knife falls
and clatters
she says,
‘stop talking’


I am an alien
in your world

I try to add to it
giving you my best


whilst my back is turned
you jam holly
into my heart


her voice was sultry
if sultry were a sound
her dress cut
just shy of 1999
her scent
something expensive
like time

each time I kissed her hand
she giggled
like a girl in school
her eyes cast down
to my shoes
leaving behind
a sense of where she’d been
the past seven days

Jam Hag

Inspector Iris Cooper and young officer David Martínez took in the house before them. All the legends, myths, warnings, and mythos surrounding this place threatened to interfere with their experience and good judgement. From the icing on the roof to the gumdrop trim and doorknobs, Iris’ mind went back to childhood, to all the dreams of sugar her mother wouldn’t let her have, and jealousy of her schoolmates with more permissive parents. She inhaled the deep scents of cinnamon and cocoa, pulling on a pair of blue gloves, and reaching for the doorknob.


Continue reading “Jam Hag”