My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie "That's the last time I let you pick the family pet." Elliott Hound of Hound's Head was drinking from a flagon, celebrating ten years of steady business in Yardley. A bright-eyed thirty-six-year-old despite the alcohol intake, he was partially eavesdropping on a conversation between a disgruntled woman and from what he assumed her scrawny red-headed husband - and partially looking through the frosted window set between one of the corner booths and a framed sketch of August Wilson by Elliott's happy and artistic seven-year-old protégé of a niece. Outside by the small house nestled between Hound's Head and the general store, Elliott's son Gabriel was building a small castle in the sandbox, using two red buckets and a plastic green shovel to build the turrets and the towers. Dangling off the corner of the box was the thick blue tarp that Elliott would throw across the crate every night, so the rain and the angry cats didn't try to ...

"Mind giving me a lift?" He was wearing a royal blue coat and a knit black cap, beard pointed outward like the arrow on a weather vane. Like it had been struck by lightning and now stood vividly on end in the London street lamps.

In honor of my nine month-i-versary with my girlfriend, I decided to delay the sonnet usually meant for Thursday for today. And no, it is totally not an excuse for accidentally missing Sonnet Solstice yesterday. ...Ahem. Nine Months by Belinda Roddie Nine months of reverie and happy dreams , nine months of my heart playing symphonies. Nine months past, we both say so jokingly, "We have reached the end of the pregnancy!" Humor aside, mo chuisle, you have made me happier than I have ever been, and though I must depart within a day, I cannot wait to see you yet again. Your smile, your laugh, your hair of reddish gold, your eyes transfix me with their bright blue charm. I do not care for people's judgment (c)old - I do not care should our love cause alarm. Because our love is pure and it is true, so here's to many more sweet months with you. I love you, Arden. Have a great night and a great weekend, everyone.

Prince and Princess by Belinda Roddie Two gentle silhouettes move to the sound of harmony The clarinet is mellow as the wind through hollow trees as it caresses each cheekbone in its travel, causing a smile to simmer like a cool flame on the boy's moist lips He wants from his princess a small but tender kiss gentle as the Egyptian breeze upon the Nile while the sun hangs like a broken chandelier as the leaves cling to the instrument's melody The girl asks, "I wonder what it's like here in spring, when the sun is hooked back onto the blue ceiling above our heads, and it is no longer quite free?" The boy thinks, "She's a little poetic for me." He wants to keep her quiet with his embrace, but it only seems to stir her further to sing of lovely things such as falcons on the wing in order to signify the musician's mockery The boy grows impatient and says, "Didn't we agree that this is a fairy tale, and I was your prince?...

"Thanks for inviting me to the party," Sammy said with an ear-straining grin. "I had a blast." Jesse responded with a toothy smile. The two had spent most of the time sitting on the black leather couch in the corner, drinking rum concoctions from pink plastic glasses and giggling about the latest Oscar nominated films. Both cinephiles and both lovers of the classics as well. It was lovely.

I'm A Bit Shaky by Belinda Roddie I'm a bit shaky on holding my tongue between my fingers, slowing down my chattering teeth. They clatter and clunk about like dead dead railroad tracks that are my thoughts never ceasing even when I try to sleep. I wish I could be a little less anxious a little less tip of the iceberg a little less let me tell you everything and expect you to just nod and smile and grin and bear it. It's hard to be a dashing knight and not get a few chinks in the armor. It's hard not to be a burden especially when you think I'm not a burden at all. Which leaves me to wonder if you know who I am more than I ever will.

I’m at a loss for words. At the end of the aisle, there is a man dressed in a black suit with a red tie and vest. The same hue as the rubies dripping from my ears. My father’s bicep is firm and rough against my sleeve. Flaky skin against white. He doesn’t smile even when he lets me go.