Hecale
A Portal For Writers
| “Collision” Sitting with book in hand, careened forward as my mind diverges out the open window, elevated into the same biting wind that turns nail beds blue and ripples my skin. I sense your phantom hands upon my mouth, an invisible collision of energy paralyzing me in my already transient state, knees strapping me down to the chair. The weight of you evident, suffocating me in primal pleasure until I must laugh at my illusion, your delusion of grandeur. ©Aleathia Drehmer 2007 |
| “Monsoons” Monsoons come early this year. We witness them sailing across the desert from miles out, dark thunderheads billow with hidden destruction, perfect lightning bolts strike the ground like the hand of Zeus. Shameless, the rain soaks the dry, cracked earth baked hard by a long summer. It feels like sandpaper, looks of Spanish tile. The gulches and washes fill with raging, muddy waters, debris splinters the banks, decimating the land before our hungry eyes. We wait eager for the rains to steal away so we can take the horses out, run them like bullet trains on fresh mud, breathe deep the scent of wet sagebrush and yellow bells. Our bodies mold to the horses riding bareback in the aftermath with greedy grins on our faces. pushing them to their limit, pushing our own limits not only racing each other but the next storm on the horizon. ©Aleathia Drehmer 2006 |
| “iPod” Inside your brain lives a tumor that is crushing half of the butterfly nestled in your white matter. The doctor was telling you this as I located your son in the waiting area. He sat there alone, back hunched over with arms resting on his knees. Familiar white strings dangled from his ears, and I saw the iPod cradled in his hands, toes tapping to a beat only he could hear. He tugged the strings from his ears as he saw me come near him, questions written across his innocent forehead about the condition of his dad. He followed me to the darkened room, and all I could bring myself to think about is the last song he listened to before he found out his father would soon die. ©Aleathia Drehmer 2007 |