KarlyNoelleAbreu

 “Can I ask you a personal question?” Ezra glanced at the digital clock on the beside table. 1:47 AM. He sighed into the phone. “Mmmkay,” he murmured. “Why don’t you divorce Samantha?” “I don’t want to have this conversation, Kris. I’ve got things to do in the morning. I need to get some sleep.” “Like hell. You were still awake. I can tell your fake groggy voice from your real one, give me some credit.” Kristen’s voice was practically smirking, Ezra could tell. “You’re a horrible human being,” he said. Her voice went soft. “I di

Since she lost the baby, my wife, she is depressed. She won’t cry, won’t yell. She just stares, big eyes, no tears. When I took her to the mall,  she stood in front of Baby Gap, staring at the tiny sweaters. I took her by the hand, but she felt ephemeral a woman of mist, disappearing into the morning sun. I haven’t made her leave the house in days, not since she- well. She didn’t mean any harm but she followed that woman for blocks and blocks because she was pushing a stroller. She never wanted kids, she said but I watched her face, her eyes like lighthouses, guiding me into the news. She named the baby Skye.

I envy all of them, those shallow birds who fly and nest at will, I fill a cage with down waiting for eggs to hatch, and hungry mouths. I dream of skies, sitting on this perch, wondering at the shape, of blue and clouds, and water below, and the things that crawl beneath I shift my weight, one foot to the other, and wonder if today I will remember how to sing?

It was two in the morning, and the Clock was chiming out the hour. Annalise sat up in bed, and found herself in an unfamiliar setting. She rubbed at her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the dark, then looked around. She was inside the Clocktower that divided West Clocktown from East Clocktown. Above her, cogs and gears ticked so monstrously she was amazed she’d ever fallen asleep at all,  but she barely heard them beneath the echoing of the massive bell suspended hundreds of feet above her. The deck she was on was laid out more or less like living quarters, with the bed she was on, a table and two mismatched chairs nearby, and a smal

I’m having trouble articulating myself lately. My words get caught in my throat, stuck there like old chicken bones. Another worry on a laundry list scribbled on the back of my receipts for items I bought with money I did not have. I tried to tell you I loved you with every paper. Forcing words out is no trouble, like bleeding, it only matters where it flows, and how swiftly, to determine if it kills you, or brings you back to life. I’ve yet to tap the vein that strikes that golden balance, a purgatory where my language is as free flowing as birdsong. All creation sings- even rocks hum in their ancient, silent way. But if al

 Iris was sitting on the curb, watch the sun sinking on the horizon. The sky was the color of coral, and she imagined she was seeing it over the Pacific Ocean, 20 miles away, and not over the pear trees lining her street. She considered crying, and began to let her thoughts take her to an invitation-only pity party. Before she could work up a good lather though, she heard a car door slam across the street. Someone was climbing out of a hideous black Toyota truck that was at least 20 years older than the owner. She recognized the boy- the man- who was hurrying across the empty suburban street towards her, by his somewhat unbalanced gait, an

I have to keep reminding myself- pound for pound- that I am healthier now. My collar bones no longer thrust out of my skin like a vulture’s wings, picking at my dying skin. My ribs went back into hiding, back into the secret place where they overlook the beating center My breasts are full as glasses of wine, nurturing and cheerful, fresh-faced little milkmaids. My stomach like the moon rising over the hills, or dough yet waiting to be baked. I watch my skin reshaping, forming around a new body as if I were a Grecian goddess stepping out of marble. Once a block- then defined pound for pound. She is naked in her confidence; all s

Striped and twisted, red and white, I burn in the desert, scorch in the night. Only a girl obsessed with her bones knows how deep the town well goes. I release our children, fire to the furnace, spice in the bones. And that goat-headed monster loves the beauty, and the beast in me too I’d pluck out my eyes and feed them to crows and slice my heels on glass slippers, so it goes, Closed up in these ribs, damned by gifts I despise. Yet off in the distance, still hazy with sunrise, blood-soaked and ancient, more fiction than truth, for just one more year… Oh God, it’s enough.