My Cardboard Balcony

Stiff Hands by Belinda Roddie Somebody broke the clock next door, so it's always ten at night, but only when you're in that room with a lover or a friend. Time stops long enough for you to spill your secrets along with wine. It will let you cry a hundred times in the corner without the dawn infringing on your territory. It will wrap you in a frigid shawl as welcoming as a black hole, pull you into a dimension that sprinkles stardust on your bangs and turns you gray while you're still young. And when the somebody you dragged along into that void kisses you, it is like the forgotten sun in a tiny space, until you remember that it's bright aside, and you break free, and you find solace in the incessant ticking that was once so limiting before. Her Hands Were Cold by Belinda Roddie Her hands were cold and would not warm up by the hearth. No matter how many hot drinks I passed to her, her body never rose above its frigid temp'rature. I w...

Would you like to ride a boat in Venice? Please say you do, oh, please. We'll kiss the salt brine in the air. You'll sit across my knees. We'll hear the gondoliers' all warble as the water flows. You'll kiss me right upon my lips, while I will kiss your nose. Let's ride a boat in Venice - I hear the weather's great. We'll spend an Italian evening just for us. Let's set a date.

Lungs by Belinda Roddie I lie in bed at night, and I am thankful for a great many things. However, I take for granted the mighty pouches of life stored behind my ribs, cycling air to make it nourishing. My blood is warmed to the melody of oxygen. I can breathe. I do not have to take my chances with a canister. I do not have to stop walking to ease the burn in my chest. I do not have to fear a chokehold, for many reasons. I am allowed to breathe. I am allowed to live. But he can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe. How many times did he have to gasp it to be spared? And how many times would I have had to say it before precious air returned to me, and my lungs cooperated, and the man in blue apologized? We are different, the dead and I - I get to lie in bed a...

The bear cub clung tightly to the rotting mouth of the tree, a slight trace of honey noticeable on its jowl. None of us tried to approach it - it was clearly scared, and very, very hungry. The ranger with us fidgeted with his walkie talkie before slipping behind another tree to talk with a cohort. "Where's its mom?" my son asked, practically attached to the crook of my elbow. "I don't know, Jim," I replied, "but we mustn't interfere."

More Sage Advice by Belinda Roddie Do not chew charcoal after midnight - you will not start a fire. Remember to set your clocks back so Father Time can take a longer nap. He is old and fragile, and his yarn fingers are fraying at the edges. He can't hold his staff as well anymore. If you find a tiger without stripes, fetch a bucket and some paint. She will thank you for the temporary relief to her identity crisis. Before you go gray, drink the elixir of youth from a can. They are packaging it for cheap now, but only for those who are still baby-faced. Not even the sprightly can sip if they show wrinkles in their smiles.

No OneWord update today. We'll see about tomorrow.

Helium by Belinda Roddie All the balloons floated away in a stream of molten lava flight. And merry-go-rounds became paralyzed in dying starlight. There was a speck of something hot on the side of the moon's bulbous cheek. It had been chewing up the cosmic scenery, sparks flying in between bites. The carnival had come to town, but few had bothered to attend. I was left behind in the funnel cake line when your shift had reached its end. You wore your flannel jacket when you took me to where the fireworks turned into constellations. There, I traced a belt of my own. You cinched it for me, hands on my waist, kissing me and making me want to float away.