Thursday, January 22, 2009

Sketchbook: Morning into Afternoon

Empty Brown Bag
Day breaks the sleeping body awake. Cracking back to the morning rise, sundry steps towards the kitchen, I flip on the radio. An empty brown bag greets the morning fog, I finger it with disbelief. There are no coffee beans. My tongue slides against the cavern of the mouth, slipping desire against the teeth, I suck the lip in and lick it. "Can't you give me something?" I purr at the empty bag. I brew tea instead.

The City Marks its Territory

A white canvass stained with grit and exhaust churned up by the plow trucks, only sky unsoiled with pluffy white.

Cursing Brows
"You've become a cliche," the words fall out of her mouth with a clicking tongue. Brow pursed, a silhouetted vein piercing the forehead. The words meant for her friend travels through the bus and catch my ear. I look up for the snapshot of disapproval across her face. Blink, I search for her friend's response - stung eyes with a vacant smile. She, the friend, grows into her response like a slow-mo pan, she straightens her form and curses her naysayer with her own brow, "I may be a cliche, but at least I can say I now know love."

Work Calls In
"You don't have to come in, the trainings been canceled."
"The computers are down or something. B asked us to tell you first 'cause you take the bus in."
I am half way through my commute.
I still need coffee.

Vagabond sits next to me. A rancorous smell, layers of old sweat getting older perfumes the air with a motley musk. Passengers cringe with offense and discomfort. Suddenly I smell the condensation of fear forming across their own bodies. The pheromone exchange quickens my pulse and editorial thoughts skip across the mind. The man hugs his bag and turns his face towards the reflection against the moving back drop of the window. He turns to me, flushed cheeks greet my periphery and he speaks loud enough to address everyone close by. A scurried shame filled response, he is not from around here. Bad luck, the epidermis under the funky layers sent him moving to a city with a shelter. Rolled eyes and anger greet our conversation from across the bus. An aperture of protecting forms in my head. I want to curse them. I ask him to get off the bus with me two stops down. I know a place where he can get a shower and wash his clothes at this time of day. The shelters don't open for another 5 hours. He tells me he always paid his taxes and gave to charity, "Why me?" Selfishly, all I can think in my head is I wished I had farted loud on the bus.

Stumbling Heart Prayer
I don't know the steps of a better person, that perfection of self lingering in the mind's eye. She stands tall and always says the right thing. Her laughter catches the heart of those around her and she never gleams a flaw in the eyes of others. I can only try and be the best of myself at any given moment, owning and forgiving when I fail in the attempt. Sometimes I long for the moments when I can stub the toe and not bleed.

Love Note to Coffee
"Coffee, please." I say with a coy smile, my heart feels light and I finally get that cup. I press change against the counter and toss the buck in the tip jar. I love you, coffee.

1 comment:

Nadine Smith said...

I really enjoyed these!