Xanadu
 

I'm pretty like my life depends on it— because it kind of does. My pretty little hand does eyeliner over and over. Approximately 12 times each morning before the final look is presented, because you’ll never know when you might be noticed. You aren’t. They're told “you’re lucky you're pretty”... I hear this all this time. Egregiously erroneous… Addressed eventually. I'm told you're pretty for a black girl— trenchant words like darts to my face. I’m told them all the time, a m

The magician finished braiding his long, black hair; equipped his black top hat; and grabbed his deck. He opened it and shuffled the cards within. He drew a hand of three—8, jack, and king. He inspected them—this was no ordinary deck of cards. On the 8 was a carefully painted scene of a dark forest. Sneaking through the trees was none other than the wendigo—a frightful, bipedal monster with a deer skull for a head, bright white horns, and deep, black, empty sockets where its

I stand in an endless stream. A sparkling, beautiful stream. Even though there is so much pollution and muck, I can’t help but call it beautiful. I feel the waves all around me, drawing me. It’s a pull to move along. I stay where I am, a stone embedded in the stream’s foundation. I don’t wish to move, not yet. The stream likely goes on and on but I have yet to see all the sights right where I am. I haven’t grasped all the stones in the stream. Feeling their perfect imperfecti

Yesterday I watched three little boys in the park go fishing. No older than six, with scabby knees and missing baby teeth, they were running around– as boys do– their mothers pushing strollers with baby sisters inside and calling for them to slow down. The little boys all had old man names– Simon, Henry and William, and I suppose that fishing is something old-mannish. Over the stone bridge, one of the boys– Simon, I think– pulled a bit of scratchy yarn out of a green sand pai

I sit down in a lively room. Everyone is joyously talking in their individual groups while I bask in the comfort that is my blue chair. My favorite color. I know this chair well. Whenever others stand and talk, I’ll likely be in my chair because I fear losing it. ​ I take a deep breath, acknowledging where I am, and that I’m content here, but as people discuss I see no issue with listening in. One voice shares, “I’d rather create my own robot than have a kid.” That’s pretty i