Storm

It’s raining white cold in my bit of New York City. Looking out of my balcony window, I see the bare limbs of my favorite trees through a curtain of white dust. I dream of going out to play, of letting winter’s kiss flush my cheeks, of catching snowflakes on my tongue while giggling cackles to the sky. But since the snow is falling too hard, I postponed my wintry dreams… and played with my Edgar Allan Poe’s and Sigmund Freud’s magnetic poetry kits. I used the kits to create a wee poem for the Imaginary Garden (Play It Again, Toads!): Words Count with Mama Zen. Also linked to Poets United, Poetry Pantry 286.

“Storm”

She kisses a storm on his skin;
and in his heart
lies desire.
Storm
♥ the scarf framing the poem is knitted love from my sweet Gina
♥ her gift makes winter warm and sparkly ♥
🙂

In the Dark

The hood of the truck felt warm under Cerise’s hand and bare feet. The engine rumbled through her bones, even after the man had stopped the vehicle.

Cerise glanced over her shoulder, searching for the wolf pup she had just risked her life for. The animal in question walked to stand by the driver’s door, a puzzled look in his brown eyes.

“Miss,” the driver was waving a hand. “I’m going to get out, if that’s okay with you.” When Cerise said nothing, he lowered the hand. “All righty then, I’ll stay in the truck. Luc,” he said to the wolf, “there’s water on the back.” His focus returned to Cerise. “Rickman called me on the phone. The nosy old man that stinks like a teapot, remember him? He said Luc was being Luc and you helped him keep his teeth. I was coming to thank you for getting him out of trouble.”

Jumping off the hood of the truck, and pretending that her skin hadn’t been made of bark a few short seconds ago, Cerise said, “Creatures that don’t help other creatures will never grow.”

“True, miss.” The man got out of the truck and held a hand out to Cerise.

Without shaking the man’s hand, Cerise headed back towards where she had left her things. “Goodbye Luc and Luc’s friend,” she called out over her shoulder, after picking up her shoes.

“I’m Wolf.” The man ran to catch up to her. “And your name is…?”

“I need to go, Mr. Wolf. I was meant to be somewhere else by nightfall, and I’m very late.”

“The road isn’t safe at night,” Wolf said. “And it’s even more unsafe for a green lady on foot.”

“I must go.” Cerise quickened her steps. The old man knowing what she was, and not worrying about it, meant little. But Wolf was a local male in his prime. And a local, who knew of her kind, would have heard the rumors about kidnapped young men left to roam the woods naked.

“We’ll give you a ride early in the morning,” Wolf said. “Luc and I don’t take a lot of space. Let us feed you, offer you a warm place to rest, and then drive you at first light.”

Cerise glanced at the road she had to walk. The nearing darkness didn’t bother her, but the night could hide more people like the ones who almost killed the wolf pup. “We leave right at sunup?”

“Not a second later,” he said, picking up her food basket.

.
The ride to Wolf’s home was short. When they arrived at the cabin, Cerise was pleased to see that it was made of stone. She had no problem with people who used quiet wood to build their homes. But when a dwelling was made of the bones of living trees, the sorrow in their song could break the heart of anyone with a pulse.

“You can put your stuff wherever you like. I’ll fix dinner.” Wolf placed her food basket on a small table by the door. “Luc is already out getting his on food. And I eat the meat I hunt mostly. I have some fish and keep vegetables for Rickman, if you rather—”

“I’ll eat what you eat, Mr. Wolf. Thank you.” Cerise put her backpack next to the food basket. She brushed her fingers over the top of the table, her eyes examining the window frames, the door… Everything inside Wolf’s home was made of quiet wood. Uncanny, she thought.

Perhaps noticing her behavior, he said, “This is the work of three generations. My grandfather started the stonework and my mom finished it after he was gone. She did most of the woodwork. And as soon as I could stand on two legs, I started collecting fallen branches and driving out to find driftwood for furniture and repairs. That’s the first piece I ever made.” He pointed at the table she was touching, and smiled.

“It’s very nice,” she said, crossing her arms.

The smile left his face. “The phone is on the nightstand, by Luc’s bed. If you want to call your people to let them know you’re safe.”

“They know,” she said. While connected to the Great Mother, Ivy could sense all of Cerise’s thoughts. Her sister could even see through her eyes and allow Cerise to do the same. During emergencies, or when the Great Mother was in her winter sleep and Ivy was bored out of her skull, her sister could push her emotions and experiences into Cerise’s mind.

.
Dinner preparation was a quiet affair. Wolf seasoned meat and cooked it over a gas grill. Cerise grabbed bread and honey out of her basket, and set the table. She was going to ask Wolf for a knife to cut the bread, when words that weren’t hers screamed out of her mouth. “Run, Cerise!”

Her mouth was full of liquid salt and her skin was on fire. She crawled on her stomach, leaving charred skin and flesh on the soil. But one of the thing’s tentacles grabbed her by the legs before her hands could touch the Great Mother’s trunk. Feeling the quiet taking over her bones, Ivy reached out for her sister. “Run, Cerise! They are coming.”

Ivy used the last of her will to gather what was left of the Great Mother, to push energy, memory and lore into Cerise’s mind. In a few seconds, Ivy gave her sister knowledge that had taken her twenty-eight seasons to receive and digest. The information was polluted by heat, by pain, by hatred oozing out of a pale, tentacled being that didn’t belong in this world.

Biting into the dirt, filling her mouth with life and soil, Ivy collected enough energy to sooth the pain burning her mind. It was enough to send her sister what she hoped were clear words: “Love is strange, precious…” Her body shuddered. “Hard to find and keep…” Her ears were full of howls. “Find it, Cerise…” Her eyes were open in total darkness. “Rebirth will come if you do.”

.
Cerise blinked a few times. Her head hurt so much. “Water.” She lifted her hands to her ears and regretted it right away—everything hurt.

“Quit the howling, Luc, and get Rickman. Here’s some water,” Wolf said, pressing a sponge to her lips. “But don’t move. You aren’t healed yet.”

“I need to go. My sister—”

“You need to rest, green lady,” Rickman said, walking into the room and taking Wolf’s place.

“Where am I?”

“We’re under my shop. Wolf brought you to me after you lost consciousness.”

“I need to go to my grove, my sister…”

The old man shook his head. “There’re people… and things looking for you, green lady.”

“I’ll find her for you,” Wolf said, “if you tell me where to look.”

“No,” she said, feeling her pain morph into resolve that fed on loss and sadness. “I must be the one to search for my sister’s bones.”

“Then I’ll help, green lady,” Wolf said.

She looked past the old man, until her eyes found Wolf’s. She thought about all the reasons why it wasn’t safe to give another the power of knowing her name. But there was something about this man, who answered to the name of a beast, which said that she could and should trust him. She focused her will, thought the words, and spoke them into his mind, “I am Cerise.”

Wolf’s eyes widened. He grinned. And Cerise heard him howl in her head.

.
inspired by “In the Dark”, winner of the 7th Expanding Wee Bits of Dark Fiction and Poetry

Note: this is part two “Of Cerise and the Wolf”, and the conclusion of this chapter in their tale. If you feel this story should be longer, I agree with you. I’m sure there will be more… eventually.

Summer Darkness“Summer Darkness”, by Olesya Hupalo
via

Two Eyeballs and Sharp Teeth

It seems that every time I get a new doctor, and he or she gives me an undesirable diagnosis, the inappropriateness of my lack of misery is brought up… And suggestions to see someone, who can help me deal with the abnormality of not falling apart, soon follow. And I, my Luvs, don’t get it.

If we’re friends on Facebook, you probably already know that at the beginning of this week I received an excellent report from one of my doctors. Since then, I’ve seen two other physicians who monitor the healthiness of my sexy flesh and bones, and they didn’t have great news.

Some people might think that finding out that I’m not allergic to several of my favorite foods should become inconsequential, after one doctor tells me that more invasive tests are needed in order to figure out what keeps food from traveling down my esophagus as it should… and another doctor worries at the fact that after 18 months of medications and strict behavioral changes, my innards are not getting any better. *wow, what a freakishly long sentence… cough*

Don’t get me wrong, my Wicked Luvs, I’m not delighted at the prospect of having more tubes shoved down my throat (and into other uncomfortable places). And discovering that more than a year of swallowing pills and not drinking wine probably meant nothing doesn’t inspire me to break into song. I’m deliciously uncanny, not insane; so I, too, feel anxiety over my sick gut.

But…

…living with an illness (or five plus complications) doesn’t keep me from being happy about the wonderful things in my life. First and foremost *yes, lots of clichés in this post… cough*, I am alive and grinning: I have a Piano Man who wholes me, I have family and friends who celebrate and battle with me, I can write, I can exercise, I can dance most of the time, I’m on medication that dulls some of my neuralgic pain without crushing me with negative side effects, I have two eyeballs that see well, I have a wild witchy soul that comes armed with a practical mind and pretty sharp teeth, I have me…

I wish my body was a wee bit healthier. I wish I could write as much as I used to be able to write before I got sick. I wish, I wish, I wish… for all sorts of things. But not having my wishes realized (yet, or ever) will never be enough to make me forget that I am blessed by so much more. I am Magaly Guerrero… I’ve lived. I’m living. And I will live on… for as long as there is breath in my lungs, blood in my heart, and wild words dancing out of my bones.

I am Magaly Guerrero

About two decades of me…