Life...by Chip Zuckerman
I overheard one man say to another that he was tired of living. He just looked at his companion and said it loud enough for me to hear it through the roar of the T. His eyes were happy enough, no bags underneath. His briefcase was well ordered, in good condition. It had a lock that needed a combination. I wondered what his combination was, looked down at my shoes, and thought about my own state of mind.
I was happy enough but tired of living. Who isn't on those dreary days in early may with rain and sunshine coming only in bursts which tease you like PG-13 movies with beautiful actresses. At least in the movies, though, you know there will be no sex, no violence, and only one or two cuss words, spring days make no such promise. They shine your way taunting, never loving, they are hollow little beings, those spring days. School is almost out, I thought of that to cheer myself up, but it only made me think of how hopeless the rest of life would then be. School is the best time of my life, so many tell me, but is there any time where you feel good enough to say you love life? And if there is can you videotape it for me and play it so I can see a person who is truly what the books and movies have made up believe is happy. I have had days of smiles and loves but never before have I noted true happiness, and since years ago I have never had a day in which I hoped I did not die on, rather I avoid death more out of convenience. I am careful because the prospect of living through an accident. What if I live injured, battered, then what would my life be like? This kind of logic guides me to be careful, respectful of my body. But happiness is a myth.
I thought all this on the train and then the two men got off at Harvard square and I waited until Park Street a few stops later. I was going to meet my old girlfriend, or one girl I like to call that with beautiful curly hair and beautiful eyes. I wasn't to excited to see her, because it had been so long and because I had been fooling around with other girls as of recently, and besides she had a boyfriend in North Carolina where she moved to. I rarely see her now and rarely saw her as I walked off the train onto the side of the Boston common. I went towards my favorite falafel place, crossing the street with the mob scene, we all went at the same time. I got a wrap and sat down on the stone fence that surrounded the common and waited for her to come, for Jessica, the once love of my life, to come.
She came, I saw her from far away waving towards me and I wondered how I looked, then shrugged that idea off, ran my hand through my hair not to make it pretty but to mess it up, and stood up. She looked like a different Sissy Hankshaw coming at me, not all thumbs but all my love, and I was surprised by her when she took me in her arms, or led herself to mine, and kissed me with falafel in my mouth and maybe she ate some as it floated. She backed up, chewed what she had bitten off, and told me that she missed me and she loved me and I told her the same and we walked hand in hand and forgot about my girls and her boyfriend. I glowed and hoped we never die.
Here is one I have written as an example:
Easter in Canberra
Blue sky eggshell crisp,
foil glitters through frosted grass,
air cinnamon warm.
****Good luck!****
Snow on the Ground
Crunching under foot,
sounds snap out like old women.
Joy constricts my heart.
...by Kerry Mills
Snow on my Jacket
More white than anger,
shamelessly stealing the show,
melting my resolve.
...by Kerry Mills
Late Summer
A cool breeze blows,
rain falls on burnt ground.
Summer is leaving.
...by Evan Turnbull