Xanadu
 

Some would say I lead a charmed life. Three meals a day. No fear, no danger— the right amount of shade. Enough attention to rival a celebrity. They visit me every day, under scalding sun. Sometimes the small ones sit in little buggies, always led by the larger. They carry balloons of all colors, wearing globs of thick white war paint smeared on their noses. The little ones point and shout at me behind a pane of half-inch glass specially designed to keep me inside. In the even

By its nature a delicious meal ceases existence upon fulfillment of its purpose. He who toils over the pan, organizing the mess of batter into spheres of flavor, does so for the manifestation of his work to only exist momentarily. Focused, movements strain sweating arms as the meal is prepared. Coated in mayo and sweet sauce and finished with powerful, flavorful garnish; Both the joy of its consumption and the tragedy of its impending destruction grow in tandem. Mouth scorchi

The tides of the ocean. Ebb and flow. Crests and troughs. Buoys bobbing up and down upon the water. Big boats staying afloat above the surface. Heavy anchors sinking to the bottom of the ocean floor. Various creatures living under the water within those oceanic ecosystems. The ever so strong rip-tidal currents pulling one out to sea. Fearless surfers riding above the 40 foot waves. Tidal waves crashing over the shore demolishing everything in its path. Picturesque views fille

His love was like termites and her heart was made of wood. Swarms flooded through the walls, leaving tunnels of mud on the foundation and maze like designs through the structure. The ceilings are left buckling and the damage is costly. But nothing is permanent; the pests can be forced out and the walls can be repaired.

I see the waves Washing debris on the shore Silly sea jellies float aimlessly with the current. I dive in Surfacing to see fluffy foam and gray sky And teensy muscles, and silky seaweed— I am fascinated by what the wave Leaves behind. Suddenly, another wave breaks above my head When the water calms, There are new Treasures, Which I grasp So Tightly in my palms I will not let go, I think But they are swept away With a simple Tug from the current I am weeping salty tears, Which

I look back and see her in her little duck towel. I’m carrying her in my arms, while walking to the room. Dressing her because she couldn’t do it by herself. Goodbye to that part of me that claimed I could never be a “good enough” mother. I was the person who bathed her, made sure she wouldn’t get shampoo in her eyes. I sat her in her little bathtub and made sure she would never fall over. And now I am the one who sits and observes. She sings “rain rain go away” once I turn t

I wish the world talked in tongues with rosy cheeks and lips of plump. Where the moon would kiss the sun with its crater face and crescent bum. Where snails would crawl, and slug, and slime down to a creek in the sunshine. And in that creek the fish would soar with angel wings and fishing lure. The fish would walk onto the land, fin and fin, and hand and hand. They’d stay in homes of fishy friends, but wander off on the weekends. The birds would sing songs to their brothers,

In the clearing of a temperate, oak-filled forest, a small log cabin once stood. Day after day, a carpenter worked on expanding his cozy Home, filling the forest with the deafening yet delicate Cry of his sawing and craftsmanship. Delicately carved wooden furniture, wide and spacious rooms, a larger fireplace, a softer bed, a fuzzy carpet— all new additions to his Home. However, one day, the exquisitely constructed roof caved in, furniture collapsed, and the fire was unleashe

Dust will bury you. Know this. You know this.