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In a fit of giggles,
Jakob makes his nest
in a blanket between my knees -
his favorite perch to watch TV.

He waits for me to tuck
the blanket
under my 🤬 and beneath my feet,
resting on the coffee table,

And suddenly his tiny, writhing body
is all sharp elbows,
as he settles into the well
between my knees.

He bounces, pounces, wiggles, stomps,
diving, half-blindly,
like a fox diving into the snow,
until the nest is just right.

Then he settles in to enjoy his creation
for as long as his attention span will allow -
five minutes, maybe six -
before destroying the nest completely.

He calls this "taking a bath,"
as though the creation and destruction,
creation and destruction
is cleansing in the best way he knows.

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Shattering
Clink, clink, clink
A million pieces covering the cold cement floor
all eyes on us not the stage of celebrations of honor
Something else is shattered as well
Brittan's feelings of confidence.
Our embarrassment.
Things fall apart
when you least expect
in ways that make you sad,
but later after those "pearls of wisdom" come back to you.
It may bring laughter at the time you
need confidence.

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The Dining Room

My food is cold;

There is a hair in my soup;

I waited 30 minutes for a table;

The service is awful;

I’ll take my business elsewhere.

My free bread is gone and I need more;

Where is my entree?

Fingers snapped: Can I get the check?

I need the name of your manager;

You’ll be seeing this on yelp.

As the waiter approaches the table,

He thinks, “Great, another complaint,”

But says under his breath “ How can I help you?”

A kind woman says, “thank you. The food and dining experience has been great.”

Just like that, they are human and there is hope again in the world.

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Chick?
WTF???

A monkey?

A panther/Black cat?

Girl, it’s too much work to understand you!

And what is with the mariposas?

Vines? and a raven necklace!

And always, always

Your serious, unaltered face.

Eyes with a million thoughts

Hiding under the bushel brows of

A distant ancestor

What were you trying to say?

Trying to prove?

I had eyebrows like that once

I don’t miss them

Maybe you were trying not to draw attention

Be something more than

A pretty face

Refusing to change for men’s ideal of beauty

Being true to yourself

And i can admire that

But

Really chick, what did you sacrifice for Dali?

I don’t mean to be shallow but

A little wax and maybe

You’d have had a man

That would appreciate all of you

Art, brains, beauty

And not have cheated…

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By: Stephanie De Leon

Little footsteps in the sand,
Tiny toes and tiny hands,
Sandcastles- rising and falling,
Little laughs and little hugs,
Such a beautiful life to live,
Memories, that’ll last a lifetime.

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Dear David -

What did God’s voice sound like?

When he breathed the words into you

To write?

To put into the

Living

Breathing

Word

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1982 Ford full-size van

A brown tank, but the backseats fold into a comfy bed

We are stretched out

Sleeping bags and books

A fuzzy, blue blanket, which

Becomes Amoeba Man

When my brother hides underneath

And tries to grab us

We are heading west on I-10

Towards El Paso and Las Cruces,

Where my grandparents live

Day one of our journeys

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Nothing could be done,
acceptance was all there was.

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it's a joke, another story connected to materials which should be pointless and serve no use

but it served a use. it's a use difficult to let go

It celebrates failures. It celebrates fears.

It celebrates the cycles of failures created by fears dug willingly by your own hands but without your direct approval.

But there is no denying, it is by your own hand.

An ode, off key, to the disappointment and resentment building and growing at the heel but can't seem to sew or patch up for the betterment of moving forward.

Frugal. Stubborn. Sentimental. Wholesomely disgusting.

It is a box we shove ourselves into with the hands of others and grow too tired to resist.

Different views and stories placed upon the self.

It is gray. it is holey. It is divine. it is falling apart.

It is the sadness holding on but never hitting concrete.

still holding on

It’s nothing more than a joke. A bit done with a commitment for life. A marriage to dust, dirt, and constant disappointment.

It’s a joke. Easy to slip on. Easy to slip out.

It’s a joke.

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Red, hungry wolves

Returning to my diner.

Why?

Morsels and bits of food here and there, under the tables and chairs.

Wine–red wine you prefer?

Red, hungry wolves

You are not scaring my diners.

See how they sit and enjoy your dinner?

Red, hungry wolves, are you letting them fatten up

For your last dinner?

Wine-red blood, I’m sure.

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The innocence of youth
The joy being free