My Cardboard Balcony

Our Manifest Destiny by Belinda Roddie It used to be that you went west for rivers that dyed your fingers gold when you dipped your dry hands into them, for hills that glittered under both the sun's chariot and the moon's cradle, and for valleys untouched by the hooves of tamed steeds and the wooden wheels of ambition. You went west when you wanted a handful of acres of land to build your house on, till your soil on, the smell of fertility lingering like Mother Nature's rising bosom against your cushioned nose. You looked out at the crest of the ocean as if you were honoring the foamy crown of a great god, who watched passively over you as you grew your children's futures out of a bag of seeds you brought with you on the long journey over to the coast. You slept in the hulls of ships that stank of urine, vomit, and desperate dreams as stale as whiskey caught in your old man's throat. You got your knuckles stamped with ink that stained you fo...

There was honey on her apron, and there was sugar in her hair. The pot glowed with sticky sweetness, and the smell was everywhere. I inhaled it through one nostril, and I found myself in bliss, and I swooped my little baker up, and we exchanged a kiss.

Daddy and Linds caught two salmon at the mouth of river, two hours after sunrise. When they came back, their boots were clotted with mud and debris from the water. Their hair was flat and unkempt against their floppy canvas hats. Daddy carried the rods and tack boxes, still half-full with bait, and Linds carried the fish - long and lanky, eyes bulging from the sides of their scaly, permanently shocked faces.

by Belinda Roddie She wiped her mouth and drunkenly slurred at the mailbox, "I'll fuckin' show you. I'll crush you with my bare hands and use you for scrap metal. I'll turn you into a fuckin' art piece. I'll put you in a local exhibit and call you 'Garbage.' 'Cause you're garbage. Garbage, I say! Garbage!" She continued to rant and rave, flailing her arms, as a handful of her neighbors filed out along the sidewalk to witness the display. Francine, the old lady who made brownies every week for the block, stood next to Graham, the retired police officer, and sighed. "Is this because Zoe didn't get her Super Box subscription on time again?" she asked. Graham nodded. "Though I think this is the first time she's smashed an empty whiskey bottle against her mailbox before." "I'll turn you into a storage box of shame, damn you!" Zoe snarled from across the street. Graham sighed and rubbed hi...

There was no parking by the grocery store, so Carly had to drive around to a sketchy residential area and settle for a cramped spot between a trash can and a beaten up black truck. As she stepped out of her van, she was suddenly aware of sharp, shallow breathing nearby. That turned out to be a random doing push-ups in his driveway across the street.

Hey, 2016 presidential election? Yeah, you, the looming threat to this country and its democratic institutions? Yeah, can you stop ruining my fun so I can actually focus on my wedding and enjoy each moment of planning before the big day? Thanks for that. Yeah, no real introspection tonight, folks. Par for the course, I'm afraid. Sorry But have a great night and a great weekend!

Loch Ness Lullaby by Belinda Roddie Sometimes, the monster under the bed sings me to sleep.