Tag: joaquin emiliano
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sometimes they listen.
The evening played out in timestamps. Front lawn embedded with individual flat rocks, leading up to closed eyes, her fingers tensing, slick with grease, firm grip worried that if she didn’t dig in with her thumbnail, the present might pass. She thought about the kitchen, husband rolling his eyes and telling her that thyme was…
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one more time, blood moon.
made a head count tonight, and it turns out i have 75 secrets. only one of them concerns the blood moon. a fitting number, considering what’s waiting for us all this morning. sadly, as the definition for secret goes, this story is not for sale. although, far as circumstances go, i can reveal what’s good…
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goblin.
When we made it back from the woods, doors locked, triple bolted behind us, gray afternoon streaming in through the cracks, Milo handed me every implement, instructing what to do with each one. It was IMPORTANT, he said, and made it clear I needed to remember ALL OF THEM. But a single fleck of blood…
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broad daylight.
At first, I didn’t know what I was seeing. Second glance solidifying the fact that, yes, there was a man crawling into the sewer. By the time I had rounded the corner where St. Patrick meets Palmyra, his head was already in the drain. So just a torso, legs, arms spread out across the pavement.…
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Capricorn (cold open)
Almost nonstop until eight in the morning, no turning back, bathed in interstate, because New Orleans had a special place for someone like me. Goodbye Carolina. Down through its southern counterpart, then Georgia. Interstate dipping into the valley of Atlanta, barely beating rush hour traffic as the sun turned the sky a desktop grey.…
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final night.
Once they were certain the security guard was well into his skinny mag, the dolls came to life, met in the middle of the warehouse. Stood in a semicircle under a pool of tar-stained light. Various dresses, shapes, sizes, finger lengths, eye colors, even skin colors, because there had been changes over the past few…
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the saddest song in the world.
distancing is an art that remains unmastered, she told me. sifted through the albums, generous face awash in a jukebox mood. no small surprise. hard to perfect something that simply happens. who in this world is the best at hurricaning? getting hit by a bus? …when she loses interest… then she paused between Dire Straits…
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just like that.
Fires had been erupting all across the city. Not spreading, just then, though soon. Not being set, they said on the radio that afternoon, just happening. Not just buildings. Stretches of main streets, asphalt suddenly a logjam of burning red fabric; a circle of flames brought to life at Generation Ballpark, just left of center…
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M0 J0
He wore his sport coat like a cape. Face all the worse for gravity’s ongoing story. Thin red lips stenciled across pancake batter, triplicate chins that spilled over a black bolo tie. Silver shock of greasy hair combed back towards sloping shoulders. Twin thistles arched over eyes with no apparent iris. MoJo would hobble into…
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undressed.
this was a window created, made with an outside on either side. wasn’t enough to be left out in the cold, watching what was indoors, all the lovely enthusiasms that didn’t involve you, but a reflection of what it might be like if you were allowed in there, standing, smiling, a window with built-in reminders…
notes from a never-was. 