Prickly Pear,
Peyote,
Parodia.
Harsh pricks from plants that should promise her protection, but instead.
Just like the succulents, she has to bare such a strong spine.
Significantly small and simultaneously severe, she still stifles her cries.
Like the water filling an old cactus,
She’s brimming with the floods of broken promises,
Always used for what’s on the inside
By the ceaseless nomads that steadily come and go, but never stay.
Parodia,
Peyote,
Prickly Pear.
The orange hound barks as
His human walks through the door,
Circling back and forth,
Twitching his tail eagerly,
In hopes of his human finally staying home.
The plump pooch sniffs at his human
While she grips a round white object.
Hoping the bowl is filled with something for him for once,
She holds it up away from him. Realizing it is not for him,
The pup sinks to the floor like a puddle of neglected fur.
The human, at last, reaches down to stroke the dog with one hand,
The other occupied with a bulky rectangular object.
Just as the big dog began to howl and wiggle with anticipation,
His human, once again, got up, leaving him hungry and heartbroken.
It was then that he realized the truth –
He and his human were opposites;
There was more to his human’s life than just him.
This is who you were.
You had crazy, unruly red hair,
An uncontrollable and contagious laugh,
And the brightest blue eyes.
Your crazy red hair
Always coated with the dingy smell of stale cigarette smoke,
Your bright blue eyes filled with joy.
The too-big camouflage t-shirts you wore
Had the dingy smell of stale cigarette smoke,
But you constantly had goofy grin,
Even though I hated your too-big camouflage t-shirts.
You were invariably optimistic,
With your goofy grin and
An uncontrollable, contagious laugh.
Invariably optimistic,
This is who you were.
The young toddler used to see bright yellow plastic
Covered in deep dark dents
Made by countless trips
Down the colossal neon spiral
By countless other toddlers.
The young toddler used to see glossy blue plastic
Covered in small, secret scratches
Made by numerous play dates
With the big man she called Grandpa –
His Golden hair just long enough for the colorful clasps.
The young toddler used to see small scrapes,
Streaming red with
Gritty grains of sand,
Mixing with the salt of her tears,
Filling the stinging red cuts on her knees.
The young toddler used to see strong calloused hands lifting her up
And bandaging her,
The man with the Golden locks would always say,
“No more slides today, just barrettes.
Grandpa’s gotcha now.”
"Arthur," his mother said, "Please. Just eat it. It's good for you, and the doctor says you need to eat more vegetables. This is one of the best one!" She picked some up, put it in her mouth and pretended to enjoy it, though she was clearly disgusted. "See," she said, "It's delicious!" She quickly turned around and spit it out while she thought Arthur wasn't looking.
That night, when Arthur went to bed, stomach still empty of the supposedly necessary vegetables, he couldn't help but think about how that poor broccoli probably felt. No one liked it. But, maybe that was good because it meant that no one would be eating it. Surely eating the broccoli would hurt it more physically than it would emotionally. Arthur drifted off to sleep in his cozy racecar bed with the broccoli's feelings on his mind.
Four large, bushy stalks of broccoli, and one smaller, younger stalk, leapt from their shelf in the refrigerator, trying to push the door open just enough that they could escape the icy, cold box. At first the door was too heavy for the five of them to open, but with the help of the milk carton and the jelly, they were able to get past the suction of the door. The bright greens slowly crept down the hallway, peaking in every one of the doors to see what was hidden behind them. Looking for Arthur's mom behind each door, the broccoli band was disappointed to find that she was nowhere to be found on the first floor of the house. Assuming that they were not tall enough to climb each of the stairs, they moved on.
They were able to find Arthur, himself, though. Upon arrival in his star-covered room, the band of bushy, green vegetables silently crept over the scratchy carpet and to Arthur's small bed. Once they realized that they were able to climb up the trunk at the foot of his bed, the veggies used all their strength to form a ladder of themselves tall enough to reach the covers and crawl up to Arthur's head. Each of the stalks took their turns shaking one of Arthur's little fingers, thanking him. Asleep, he was unaware that most of this was happening. "Thank you for not eating me," said the youngest stalk before climbing back down to the rest of his family and back to the floor.
Because they were able to climb up and down the trunk to Arthur’s bed, the stalks discussed the idea of trying to climb the stairs to find the mother.
“I think that if we all helped each other like we did in Arthur’s room that we could do it,” said the youngest of the fluffy stalks.
“Berkley is right, guys. I think we could just use a couple of us too. Instead of linking our heads together like we did for the trunk, we could probably just stand on each other’s smaller stalks. That way we won’t hurt each other as much, and that way we can still find Arthur’s mom, Linda,” said Becky, each of the stalks’ mother.
“Mom, Berk is never right. He’s too young to know anything. I don’t want him crawling all over me again. It felt weird when he climbed up me in Arthur’s room anyway. Plus, we don’t need to see his mom that bad, do we?” said the oldest stalk, Brandon. The others stood back in shock.
“How dare you! Boaz,” she stuttered a bit, tearing up, “I mean… Your father. He worked very hard to keep you all alive. Of course we have to find Linda. She has to pay for what she has done to him.” She looked off into the distance before continuing. “We have to find her. For your father. You should really be more considerate, seeing as you’re the oldest. Look at your brother and sister,” she said, pointing to Breck and Brock, the twins. “They’re so distraught. Why can’t you be more like them?” She screeched.
The twins sniffled while Brandon rolled his eyes at them. But he somehow knew that his mother was right. His dad deserved it. They had to find Linda somewhere. He reluctantly headed over to the staircase. With a lot of resentment, he bent down, somehow knowing he couldn’t argue with his siblings, let alone his mother. They were right, anyway. So, he let them each climb up his stalks at the bottom of each individual stair, hoping his mother would drop the subject and they could just get the night over with.
Once the five of them finally reached the top after some difficulties, they were able to search the upstairs for Linda. After sticking their stalks in two or three doors, they were faced with the last room of the second floor. They all knew it had to be Linda’s. Finally.
Just as the family of veggies suspected, Linda was sound asleep, but she was alone. They had no idea where her husband was or if he was even in the picture anymore. When Berkley asked about it, Beck responded, “I’m sure she chewed him up and spat him out too,” with a scowl on her face.
The bushy greens slowly crept into her room. As she snored, the five stalks sneakily moved closer and closer to her bed, eventually grabbing onto her duvet cover to climb up closer to her face. If they were going to do this, they all knew that they had to do it right.
The kids anxiously waited for Becky to make her way up to Linda, where they stood patient and scared. They all knew their mother was angry with Linda, and they all missed their father terribly, but they were still afraid of what she might do to Arthur’s mom. They all loved that boy so much for being so conscientious. They knew if their mom hurt his and he found out, he’d probably never care about them again. As Becky got closer and closer to Linda’s tired, sleeping face, the kids held their breath.
Just as Becky got close enough to feel Linda’s breath, she put up her biggest stalk, ready to attack. But, she couldn’t do it. She broke down and sobbed, “I just can’t believe you could do something so cruel.”
The kids all exhaled, letting out the big breath they had been holding in. “It’s okay, mom. She probably didn’t mean it,” Breck, one of the twins, told her mom.
“But she has to pay for what she did to Boaz,” Becky told her kids.
“Not necessarily,” exclaimed Berkley.
“How can you say that, you dumb little sprout! That’s our dad,” Brandon yelled.
“Shh! Both of you keep quiet! I don’t want to wake her or Arthur! You both know better. Hush,” whispered Becky. “We all know what she did was wrong. But… I’m your mother. And, as a mother, I wouldn’t ever want anything to happen to me that left you kids all alone. Maybe we can just leave a message instead.”
“What kind of message, momma?” asked Berkley.
“Let me think. I’ll figure something out.”
As she was speaking, Becky started to climb back down the duvet cover again. As she made her way down the chunky, large blanket, she kept talking to Linda, even though she probably couldn’t hear or understand a single word she said. “You know, we stalks of broccoli put up with a lot. We know that you humans eat us, okay? We get it. We’re healthy, tasty, and can be transformed a million times over. We get it. But, to eat one of us, especially a father of four little stalks, and then be so rude as to spit him out,” she trailed off.
“Mom…” all four of the kids said in unison.
“It’ll be okay, momma!” Berkley said. “Dad, probably would have understood. He wouldn’t want us to hurt her.”
Taking a deep breath, Becky said, “I know little one. I won’t hurt her. You’re right. But, we have to let her know that what she did wasn’t okay. Your dad would have understood, but that doesn’t make it right. We have to make it right.”
The four scared greens followed her down the duvet to Linda’s bathroom. There, Becky used all of her strength to climb all the way up to the top of the tall sink. She broke off a piece of her longest stalk and smeared it on the mirror, leaving green streaks. She went on ripping off her top stalks and bushes for quite some time. By the time she was done, the mirror read in big, shaky letters, “WE KNOW WHAT YOU DID, LINDA!”
“Do you think she’ll get it, mom?” The twins asked together.
“Of course they will, you stupid sprouts,” Brandon said in a snarky tone.
“Now, now, Brandon. Don’t talk to your siblings like that. You. Know. Better.” Becky told them. “But, yes. I do think she’ll understand. We all know that Arthur isn’t old enough to write yet. Who else but us could have done this?”
The broccoli family made their way back to the fridge, since it had been hours since they left and they had all started wilting. Once there, again, the milk and jelly helped open and close the door so they could get back to their rightful place, and they all went to sleep, awaiting Linda’s reaction in the morning.
The next day, the whole house was awakened by a shrill scream. Linda had found Becky’s message, and she knew full-well that it didn’t come from her son.
At lunch that day, Arthur's mom once again asked if he would be eating broccoli today. Again, he said no. But today, he stood his ground, telling his mother that he thought vegetables had feelings too; somehow surer than he was yesterday. Linda mulled this over, but took Arthur’s word for it, still wondering how those big green letters appeared on her bathroom mirror.
Being a pet is pretty challenging.
Take it from me, the family goldfish.
Cats purr, dogs bark, and birds chirp.
But, what the hell do I do?
Swim around in a tiny-ass glass bowl 24/7.
In order to be considered a good pet, as well as survive, you must be able to get your human’s attention.
Goldfish. Can’t. Do. That.
To be a good pet, you must also be able to spend some good ‘ol quality time with your human.
Go on walks, snuggle, play fetch.
Goldfish can’t do that either.
Good pets are typically well mannered.
Sweet, cuddly, and warm.
Goldfish have none of those characteristics.
A good pet will stay at your side when you fall suddenly ill; take care of you in a way.
Goldfish are stuck in bowls and can never escape.
But, a truly good bet will never leave your side.
Goldfish die.
A lot.
All in all, being a goldfish, we’re pretty shitty pets.
For Ethan:
I hear a sharp breath as he begins.
With the first ring of the keys,
Beautiful noise comes from his black and white goddess.
The keys hum softly as his fingers glide across them.
With the first ring of the keys,
He takes me deeper into his music.
The keys hum softly as his fingers glide across them,
Each note better than the last.
He takes me deeper into his music.
Sounds of the keys fill my head.
Each note better than the last,
Only his music is soothing my soul.
Sounds of the keys fill my head.
Beautiful noise comes from his black and white goddess.
Only his music is soothing my soul.
I hear a sharp breath as he begins.
I had such high hopes for today, so I should have known it'd be a major disappointment. Let me rephrase: I feel as though I am a major d...
