My Cardboard Balcony

Fifth Date by Belinda Roddie Do you see where the lights kiss, Angela? Do you spot the imprint they've left on their silhouetted cheeks, their concave jawlines - so simple, so fleeting in the salvageable reflection of the murky bay? And do you see how much she wants to kiss you, Angela? How much she wishes she could leave imprints on your cheeks, too? Light you up like a sunrise at ten PM, after too many drinks and too many secrets shared? Are you willing to rival the sun?

Caitlin had piercings in her ears, hoops in her eyebrows, studs in her nose, a glistening ruby on her tongue - and I wanted to kiss every single one of them. The combination of sterling silver and stainless steel against soft dark skin and full pink lips made me excited every time I came to the parlor. Every time she inked me - a new portrait, a new signature, a new controversy - it was like she was the painter, and I was the overly eager canvas.

Two Households by Belinda Roddie Two households - not alike at all, actually. One has a married couple with three young kids. They mow their front lawn every morning before the sun comes up. The father is balding, so the sweat runs down his face like his forehead's a solar-powered waterfall. Last I checked, he was still a teller at the bank just down the street. The mother takes all three kids to school while smoking. She smokes three cigarettes each morning, three cigarettes each evening. She is blonde. The kids are blonde. The kids are white. The kids want a puppy. The household with the married couple keeps their television on too loud. The father and mother argue a lot. The father drinks copiously after work: it's always tequila, from the smell of the recycling bin outside. He plays poker with his friends on Sundays. He kisses his friend's wife on Mondays. The mother pretends that the wife doesn't exist. She smokes more, yet she does...

I'm Trying To Work Here by Belinda Roddie Can you still write while I'm distracting you? Trading love letters with your neck and jaw, stamping red words into every divot in your collarbone - like a picture frame, I decorate you. I provide ornaments to your already pristine portrait. Can you still think while I'm distracting you? Look, the goosebumps rise to the occasion; like little soldiers, they report for duty, all long the drawn battle bases on your skin. Now I trace a fresh sketch on your cheeks. Playing connect-the-dots with my lips. You can still laugh while I'm distracting you. When I nuzzle you, you exude warmth and comfort despite the dew that lingered on your face many hours after morning. I peruse you, I stimulate you, I even push you to the limit - until the odd taste along your ear stops me, and I decide to cease and desist for now.

I tried everything to make the store look nice. I printed banners. I redid logos. I arranged all the products into nice and neat columns and rows. I wanted everything to be picturesque, quaint, distinguished...perfect, even. But a pristine aesthetic wasn't going to save the business from my sister. Not by a long shot. The day I renovated the place, she came in reeling drunk, almost blind, singing loudly to the first morning customers.