| Synergy Outside, my demeanor is a magnolia quietly surrendering its sweet scent to the putrid odor of a world in decay. Trapped in a grey room, I'm the white fading on the walls- a crystal vase sparkling when the lights are turned off, dropping hints within specks of dust. Inside, I'm a fire in the nude- an orange aster burning the marrow in my bones, thriving on smoky fumes and dead narratives. (previously published in Musacadine Lines) ©Sandy Benitez 2007 |
| Field of Dreams They thrive in the fields. Their shadows sketching black on white blending into shades of life. Sometimes they appear yellow, scarecrows stealing color from the sun who looks down on a sea of envy. The tides turning like pages in a mystery novel. At night, I invite them in. Offer them milk and cookies if they leave a gift behind. And they always do. Wrapped in star-sprinkled sky with an occasional comet's flare. The corn growing outside is good too. Beware. The silk can stick if you're not careful. ©Sandy Benitez 2007 |
| Menses and Rosebuds She surrounds herself with paper flowers, photos of petals that drip wishes on yesterday's post-its. Some are burnt sienna like the crayon, hot pink, but never black. If anyone suspected she was into Goth they would paint her nails the palest shade of clear and spray vanilla on her pulse points. Remind her she is a sophisticated woman beneath the camouflage and tar leathered boots. Never mind that pearls don't match the outfit. Her age the same size as her breasts, both drooping beneath cotton layers of time. Neither feeling the support of under wire and chest pumps. "Are you there God, no it's not Margaret but she read the book and it explained how a woman is made. Menses and Rosebuds." Now if only she could remember the details. ©Sandy Benitez 2007 |