Annmarie McQueen

Dragon’s blood

by: Annmarie McQueen

We found it in a charity shop: The perfect frame, mahogany wood Dusty in the back Scars tracing the glass surface Congealing at the edges.

We tried her on for size Her, our dragon queen Our fiery goddess Trimmed down to four square walls And four square sides Frozen in her birthing flames A phoenix girl mid-flight. Hanging her was a solemn ritual: You brought hammers and screws I brought masking tape Body bandages Dressing her in a second skin The color of the earth.

There was relief afterwards Appraising stares and photos A homecoming of sorts when she Came to rest above my headboard And I knew her steady eyes would See me through the night. *** I took her down alone A year after we hung her together. I eased her gently into my arms and Stared into her volcanic eyes Admired the way her snowy hair Flared around her like a blizzard Tangled into brush strokes Ice caught between hard bristles. The day I moved out I tripped carrying her to the car. A jagged gash, long as a dragon’s claw, Cut her face in half. It was accidental symmetry, I decided One last grand, symbolic gesture As I watched a year’s worth of silent seeing Splatter the ground like blood.

comfortable clothes

by: donald e. gasperson

there’s a watchfulness and a reasonable empathy behind any equanimity

aware that all of the world’s aspirations are too often just petty and mean and without responding to every vague bit of business or sly projection knowing the difference between simple reflection and tired reiteration

I know myself a good man careful of the facts not ordinarily tired I keep my balance carefully walking with a stick measuring my steps

wearing comfortable clothes as if I might expect a sudden metamorphosis sturdy black plastic glasses I would never have worn en vogue now

a nice suit and neat tie my church clothes absolutely full of presumption escorting my elderly mother to sunday service knowing her friends how would we get by without a bit of temerity

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