#21 to #25


the reeds are halted like tall soldiers in the water
but for an occasional shiver in the breeze
so wind approaches
on a wild horse, riding hard

the reeds bend
as the wind drives forward on its steed
pushing the reeds to the ground
but they stand again when it relents
each one unbroken

Derrek walks slowly to the plate, bat in hand. He taps the dirt and holds the bat out, sighting the bleachers. The ivy isn’t in, but just over centerfield is his favorite place to go over the wall. He squints, sets his leg back and when the pitcher tosses, he kicks and swings, feeling the ball vibrate from the tip of the bat all the way to his core.

Smack! Smack!

The rubber ball makes a hollow sound as it flies into the air and bounces off the kitchen floor. I have tried for fourteen minutes to get the slice of sweet potato out from the center, but no matter how many times I flip it into the air, it won’t come out.


Brown curls fell around Mara’s cherry cheeks as she untucked several hairpins and tossed them into a dish on her dresser. She leaned in to the mirror and pulled the red stain across her mouth, loving and hating her beauty at once.

Checking that the top two buttons of her dress were undone, she folded the clutch under her arm and left.

A young woman, dressed from the ankles up in business attire, waits for her venti white-mocha-no-whip in slippers. She hasn’t had a day off in five years and doesn’t even own a pair of jeans.

The barista calls a drink, but it’s for a gray-haired man in overalls. Her eyes narrow. She feels for the kitchen knife in the pocket of her pink trench and whispers to herself.

That man ordered after me…

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© Kathan Ink 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kathan Ink, with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
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