She works in reverse...

She works in reverse. When she meets you at a bar —at a coffee shop— she surprises you with her frankness. Where most would shy away, you want to know more. Always more. Late at night she talks on the phone in quiet tones. Sometimes the rawness of her words makes you wince. Their truth burns through you, like whiskey on a dry throat. The grit before the glitter.

A passion for Pinkberry...

If she could, she would eat Pinkberry every day. She loved the way it felt on her tongue. The mixture of berries and chocolate, red and brown flecks scattered in the white cream — the definition of delectable. She ate it in her sweatpants, as passersby observed the way she slowly turned the plastic spoon and opened her mouth for the perfect bite. She ate it in the park, sitting on a bench enjoying the warmth of the sunshine against her skin. She ate it in her pajamas on the sofa, sharing bites with her boyfriend. This was the only time she would share. Because she loved the feeling of his cold lips against hers, and that his breath smelled like chocolate.

elephants

by rachael yamagata

if the elephants have past lives
they're all destined to always remember
it's no wonder how they scream
like you and i they must have some temper

and i am dreaming of them on the plains dirtying up their pads
searching for some sign of rain to cool their hot heads

and how dare that you send me that card
when i'm doing all that i can do
you are forcing me to remember
when all i want is to just forget you

and if the tiger shall protect her young
then tell me how did you slip by
all my instincts have failed me for once
i must have somehow slept the whole night

and i am dreaming of them with their kill
tearing it all apart
blood dripping from their lips
and teeth sinking into heart

and how dare that you say you will call
when you know i need some peace of mind
if you had to take sides with the animals
won't you do it with one who is kind

and if the hawks and the trees need the dead
if you're living you don't stand a chance
for a time though you share the same bed
there are only two ends to this dance

you can flee with your wounds just in time
or lie there as he feeds
watching yourself ripped to shreds
laughing as you bleed

so for those of you falling in love
keep it kind, keep it good, keep it right
throw yourself in the midst of danger
but keep one eye open at night

For a friend who needs to read it...

They left me
with your shadow,
saying things like
Life is not fair

& I believed them
for a long time.

But today,
I remembered
the way you laughed
& the heat
of your hand
in mine

& I knew that
life is more fair
than we can
ever imagine
if
we are there to live it

by Brian Andreas

She smelled like Orange Glo...

With childlike wonder she came home from an outdoor market and described her rediscovered love of fruit. She rattled off what she had eaten with the excitement of Eve in the Garden, seeing the variety of colors dangling off trees for the first time. The produce section became a veritable Utopia while grocery shopping that afternoon. She emphatically tore off plastic bags from the dispenser, filling them carefully with her newfound loves. After placing the final bag in the cart she stood, hands on waist, and let out a satisfied sigh. Trying to help, he looked around, pointing out the few items she missed. "You forgot the grapefruit." "Yeah, that was purposeful", she said, "It's disgusting." He laughed at this. "Oh, hmm. Well, what about strawberries?" At this she looked like a disappointed child. "You know I am allergic", she said sadly, "Why did you have to bring it up?" He knew she was allergic, of course he knew, but filling the cart with fruit had become a game in his mind.

That night, bending over rifling through the drawers of the refrigerator, he asked her if she would like something from their produce adventure. She paused and thought, pursing her lips together. She wanted an orange. "Are you sure?", he asked, laughing and watching her eyes dart back and forth as she sifted through the choices in her head. As he watched her, he felt his eyes soften. A slow smile turned up the left side of his mouth. He knew, if she had looked up right then, she could have seen it. The change in his expression. She was adorable and he was in love.

"Yes, yes...an orange. I want an orange." He stood in the kitchen and helped her peel the orange and they placed it delicately on a paper towel. He grabbed an apple for himself, which she informed him was a Gala, and they headed back to the sofa. She sat at the end, one leg curled underneath her and, as she took the first bite of orange, they talked about the pattern of her socks. Argyle. Always argyle. As orange met her mouth, she closed her eyes and savored it. He took a bite of his apple and continued to watch her marvel over this seemingly ordinary find as if she was the first to ever discover citrus. She lifted one hand to her face and breathed in. He looked at her with a curious grin and asked, "What are you doing?" "Smell", she said, "What does it remind you of?" She waved her hand in front of his face and he grabbed it gently to hold it in place underneath his nose. A flash of recognition. "Orange Glo?", he asked. She smiled and said, "Exactly. Orange Glo." A cleaning product used in their apartment from time to time. They laughed and he said, "Well, maybe you could have achieved this very same excitement by cleaning. There's a novel idea. Yes, maybe you should have done that." She laughed and rolled her eyes, slapping his thigh while eating another slice of orange.

She watched him eat the apple. "Would you like a slice of my orange?", she offered. He looked at her, not wanting to take something that brought her so much joy. "Well, okay. You want to trade?" She knew he would ask. So he gave her his apple and she handed him the paper towel with her last remaining slice of orange. They passed the apple back and forth, both taking bites, until it was gone. He never knew fruit could be so intimate. In that moment, he understood her love.

The shapes of grapes...

All evening he captivated her interest. Over dinner he discussed the landmarks of London and how the weather affects his sleeping patterns. In the car he leaned back, his long legs contorted into geometric shapes. He chewed on the earpiece of her sunglasses, talking about meetings he had lined up with so-and-so. Fascinated, she listened and watched his forehead crinkle as he paused—searching for a unique analogy for such-and-such. At an uptown wine bar, a woman brought the menu and they perused it —Bordeaux, Pinot Noir, Cannonau, Viognier— discussing the grapes in the drawings and how they looked almost geographic. One, Italy. One, Africa. When it was time to order, she felt sure his knowledge of wine would surpass hers, as with most everything else. He confidently asked for something "full-bodied". Alone at the table, he looked at her with a sideways grin and said, "I have no idea what that means." They laughed. The evening seemed more real after that.