R.E.V.O.L.U.T.I.O.N.

Encounter in Illinois

Footsteps

WATCH OUT!!

Look where you’re going

Invisible man with a monkey’s paw

In the August heat

Nobody prepares you for this stage of life

When your own blood shoots you dead

Right there, in the wilderness

It’s science fiction and fantasy

The lines are blurred

Where does fantasy begin?

Where does reality end?

It’s a fine line

Betwixt  religion and hypocrisy

 

We’re at war

Science fiction and fantasy

The blood of the martyrs

Will once again spill into the streets

When a visit to grandma’s

May save your own soul

Where you’ll sit on the old rocking horse

And know you’re a winner

 

The lottery is fixed

The outcome is fixed

And the young ones will sing

The ballad of the harp-weaver

A ballad from hell-will be the antidote

To break the wicked spell.

 

This time next year

The raven will come

Midnight’s End

A small crimson velvet pouch

With jewelry from his mother

His only connection to her

He opens it slowly,carefully, apprehensively

His heart pounding inside his chest

Drops of sweat dotting his upper lip

The silent ghost now attempting to speak:

An oval, Art Deco gold locket,

An amethyst ring,

A silver key

His stubby,clumsy fingers stumbling to open the locket

The tiny door to the past flies open

Cradling a curly lock the color of midnight’s end

Holds it to his nose and closes his eyes

Trying to breathe in her spirit

Puts it back in its cradle with utmost care

So as not to disturb the ghost in the grave

 

Picks up the amethyst ring

Reads the inscription: “Para mi esposa preciosa”

He knows his mother’s language; not the author behind the words

A tear trickles down his left cheek; mixing with nervous sweat

Previous Condition

I woke up shaking

Alone in my room

The gray sheet-a twisted rope

Breathing as if from running

Motionless-for the longest while

Laying on my back-spread-eagle

Staring up at the spackled ceiling

With ear in tune to other sounds from the house:

A teapot whistling

A smoker’s sputum  filled, hacking cough

A long drawn out yawn

My dog barking at the approaching mail man

Ma’s bacon sizzling on the cast iron griddle

In the shower, a girly voice singing Taylor Swift‘s “Mean”

The  soft hum of the 5 blade fan over my bed

 

I had been dreaming

I woke up trembling-not sure why

The dream’s detail’s eluded me

I was certain I was running

This was recurrent

A previous condition

For a prolonged time; no dreams would come

Then with out notice, they’d return

A whole flood of them- a torrent even

I’d put off going…

Banana Fish

Sex is fun-or hell

A ringing phone

Hello?

Why hasn’t he called her?

They want four hundred dollars

Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948

Those German poems

Penned by the only poet of the century

Word of honor

In The ocean Room

His wife was horrible

A raving maniac

He needs the sun

Sea glass Beach is his retreat

“Not in my face Baby,” He said.

“Come a little closer,” She said.

He is Capricorn

She is Pisces

“Wanna catch a banana fish?” He asked.

He disrobes down to his swim trunks

The 2 walk down to the ocean

A perfect day for banana fish

Here comes a wave.

Don’t be a God damned sneak!

EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2013

 

Altered Book: Nine Stories/J.D.Salinger