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I thought how lucky I’d been —you plunged both hands into my chest,fished the last beast out by its roots,proud as some surgeon of sorrow.You called it mercy. I called it vacancy.A wind now whistles through the chamberwhere furious heat once kept me warm. We die on hills we did not choose, and some we…
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Saturday doesn’t show up smiling. It comes grinning like a wolf, collecting all the half-finished jobs and promises I left scattered Monday through Friday. The weight of them lands on me the moment I wake. There’s this strange pressure to make Saturday count. Not quite work, not quite rest, more like a holding pen for…
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Rain in my boots once taught methat misery seeps upward,one cold inch at a time.Feet chilled, blood chilled,the whole body trickedinto believing joy was impossible. Life does this too:one regret, one old griefrunning its circuit like a tide,turning the warm currentinto undertow. Today, I’m on my knees,teaching how to lay flooring.Snap, click, measure, cut.Start at…
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Have you ever loved a photograph? Not the person.The paper. Corners curled.Edges yellow.Your fingerprints pressed into it—again, again. A relic.A prayer. Flat image—yet it breathes.Two into three.Three into somethinguntouched by time. I fall inside.Invent the dialogue.Score the silence.Make the light softerthan it ever was. The picture forgiveswhat memory could not. I keep too many.They hold…
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The Trojan Horse, Revisited They say a Trojan horse works only once—unless it’s carved so beautifulit blinds the guard at the gate. And you—you were that beautiful. I opened the walls,welcomed you in,mistook the hollow for holy,the silence for love. You studied my blueprints,found the unguarded doors,and from your belly spilledarmies of half-truths,promises sharp as…
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Chapter Title: Silt I’m sorry.I didn’t have what you needed.What I gave was ordinary.Brief. The words—they wait in silence.Lined up like ghosts.But they dieon the way to my mouth. Only I’m sorry survives.Two small words.Tired.Misunderstood.Still, they walk forward. I’m sorry I couldn’t hold you.That I blurred in your eyes—like newsprint left out in the rain.…
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A fraud, they said. But to be a fraud one must first know the real thing.I never got the blueprint, only the ghost of a house.This rope, not hemp but memory, knots me to myself.I dream of Houdini-ing out, each kiss from my wife a lockpick made of breath. I was married once. I think…
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I grew up in that age when television screens stretched anywhere from a 13-inch “personal” set to a 28-inch family behemoth. In our house, we had one TV—24 inches, rabbit ears on top, wood panel sides, and a dial that clicked its way from channels 2 through 13 on VHF. Channel 3 was just snow,…
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The screen glowed in the 2:30 AM stillness, a sudden star in the domestic dark of his bedroom. Her text bloomed, then vanished, a digital ghost that left its afterimage on his retinas. Arlo fumbled for the phone, pressing it awake. He didn’t bother with his glasses; his nearsightedness was a loyal servant in the…
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of course you said we& so i unlearned my own namefor the shape of an us only to findthe space between your hello& your goodnightis an oceanwhere i amdrowning alone. you have your houseyour children a steady chorusin the same keyyou have the same wallsthat have held other voices& called it home. & me?i have…
BB Grey--musings 