My Cardboard Balcony

"Please disregard the obnoxious woman in the back," said the bedraggled professor as the thirty-something-year-old student glowered at him behind horn rims. "I'm trying to discuss physics. There is no room for religious argument." "Why did we even get on that topic to begin with?" asked Sam. The professor shrugged. "No one likes to be proven wrong."

by Belinda Roddie When the kitten opened its mouth, only the sound of swing band saxophones came out. Dr. Simon Smithy had never experienced such a phenomenon, and wrote it down in his notes. " What have you been feeding Sergeant Cuddles?" he asked a recently post-pubescent Frankie, who gazed at him cluelessly through pink-rimmed spectacles and twirled her reddish blonde hair. "I dunno. Usual stuff. He's never had a problem." "And do you play with him?" asked the veterinarian. "Yeah, occasionally. But Timothy plays with him more." "Timothy?" "Yeah. My boyfriend. He moved in a few months ago. Sergeant Cuddles loooooves him." Dr. Smithy wrote up a prescription for anti-inflammatory jazz stabilizers and gave the poor feline a great big dose of Mozart through a dripping needle. Sergeant Cuddles yowled out a ten-minute tenor saxophone improvisation as Frankie, rolling her eyes, pulled him back in his carrier an...

I was lending a hand to a little boy who wanted to reach a box of Wheat Thins on a very tall shelf in the local grocery store when I saw Harry limping down the aisle. He looked much more leathery than before, as if the sun had taken his face out to a barbecue and marinated it was thick, sweet sauce. His pupils noticeably dilated even from a distance, but he seemed to recognize me. "Well," he said with a wispy laugh. "I didn't think you'd still be here."

I thought I was going to talk about my first official rejection letter (actual paper rejection letter, not "rejection e-mail" - I don't count those) - a kind, personal note from a publisher telling me to keep sending out my manuscript, thinking it was a "good novel" and love story. I was going to type out my thoughts and feelings about it, as well as my promise to save and tack up every single rejection letter I get. And how I will work hard to see my writing exposed to an audience who wants to read it. Instead, something happened today at work that I can't get out of my head. So as much as I could be sappy regarding the rejection letter and perseverance and confidence (and a very kind Eloise Klein Healy from  Arktoi Books , who I thank with all my heart for her words and time) despite any setback - I'm going to hit on something else. And that something is: I hate bullying. I've mentioned the terrible power of bullying in a previous Introspecti...

Separate Lives by Belinda Roddie   Chocolate cake shared over a night of several dreams While headlights streak our heads with gold for the time being Reins in each hand, you trot into the glade To be swallowed in a fog of lovely purple haze Simple images kept in a chest by the bedside table, The box with the painted couple from an ancient fable Teaching me how to fly without falling off the ledge Of some nightmarish gremlin’s trap to keep those on edge And though you spit jewels from your mouth, it only is Your eyes that keep the evening precious in the end Luscious fairytales will give me things to dream about While flowers blooming like fireworks in July you just can’t live without So you’ll relax, for you live the story in its breath And I shall read that story until my exhausted death Or until you reappear upon the glade sunk with snow Enough for fish to freeze in, while the wind deals harsher blows ‘Til we share another slice of dark desire with knives To penetrate all the...

"I see you've lost your luggage." "Yes. I have paperwork and tickets and everything..." "May I ask what the luggage looked like?" "...Sparkly." "Sparkly?" "Yeah. Sparkly. Can't miss it." "May I ask what color your luggage is?" "I dunno. A sparkly color?" "Oookay. How about the stuff on it. Does it have a particular tag?" "...It has sparkly zippers." "Okay, how about - " "SPARKLY."

Tomorrow's Eclipse by Belinda Roddie Tomorrow's eclipse is brought to you by a celestial sponsor weaving gold and silver looms together, meshed satins and silks with melted ink across a sewn shawl. Like a cloak drawn across a brazen mantel that glitters beneath steely moths that spray aluminum in wispy foil to wrap up strands of sunlight in cold black. The telescope lies abandoned on my balcony where the salt lifts to kiss the cool folds of island winds fornicating with swollen, healthy heat with sweating lips. The lens is far too cracked to view this sweet phenomenon, so I drift off to sleep.