My Cardboard Balcony

Riveting by Belinda Roddie   riveting spectacle can only be riveting when two lights shine above downtown and spin around each other like fireflies in a mating dance the way the whipped cream melts in your cocoa is similar to the swirling that duplicates across a two thousand mile radius across the country sky from tiny doughnut shops to bloated yachts snoring by the bay side there are rainbows pivoting like pinwheels stars rotating on an endless axis before dissolving into the Milky Way very, very white

Sparkling apple cider was set in front of me at the counter, and I caught Cecilia's reflection in the flute glass. She was standing in the corner, talking to Marshall. Her eyes kept wandering. I took a long sip and shuddered in the sweetness. If I stayed long enough, maybe she would notice me.

Has Been by Belinda Roddie Has been drinking again, even though I told him not to, even when his blue eyes became flecked with dark, dark, dark gold. Has been firing lousy shots at a microwave because it won't heat his casserole properly. Has been cussing. Has been shouting. Has been crying. Hasn't seen daylight since his wife keeled over in the kitchen all wide-eyed with fried fish in her hair.

The food was bland, and the show Herman was watching on the telly was even blander. I left the flat and took the lift down to the bottom floor, where I saw a girl carrying the laundry in. Her clothes were bland, too. All whites and pastel pinks. I went out for a smoke near the Thames and let the smells knock me backward.

After Dinner by Belinda Roddie gray gray obtuse angle the way I hold my pen and the way you kiss me with your arms like clamps and your lips scaley from the bread you've just eaten round and round we tumble between the cushions grease spittle against my cheek the ricochet bounce momentum of your teeth

"Savage Garden? I remember them! Their songs were so marvelously sappy." We were rummaging through our boxes and towers of CDs before Dad started the garage sale. Rhonda had uncovered several of her Celine Dion disks, while I had found my Backstreet Boy ones. We giggled like schoolgirls again as we searched. "To think I occasionally still listen to all this," I laughed.

Lillies dancing across pads of green and brown. The fall mixing with the spring air. Chimney smoke trapped under a frothy sun. You exit your office building with your briefcase dripping with coffee. Your co-worker spilled his mug across your lap. You sit by the pond for a bit and let your cheeks grow red in the hybrid of heat and frost. You are alone, and you are happy.