My Cardboard Balcony

Some Things by Belinda Roddie Some things at Christmas time are worth the stress and all the crazy bustle as the days breeze by, and the weather's tepid at best. The goddess of the winter has her ways of making fires in the hearth as bright as starlight, and so warm and inviting. And as the afternoon turns into night, the family I keep will form a ring around the embers, while the Christmas tree maintains its gleam despite its drying bones. We find love in between the jubilees. We find peace when we're busy heaving stones to tops of hills. Our burdens will somehow stay heavy, but we ignore them for now.

"I told him I'd give him fifty bucks for it." Maura stiffened at the number, but I was insistent. "It's all I had. It's all I wanted to offer. We need to eat, Maura. I want to try music again, but we need to eat." "He's never going to sell that piano to you for that low," she mumbled. "I'm still waiting for his decision."

Guest Haiku by Arden Roddie She said to me, “Just write a couplet, or maybe a haiku,” so here.

I'm living in a nice two story condo, and my income's relatively stable. It's not much, but it's stable. I can always put food on the table. I have a car that runs all right; it's got mileage, but it's stable. It's not much, but it's stable. When it comes to its job, it's able. I have a wife who loves me, and our marriage has been stable. It's everything, and it's stable. It's the perfect fairy tale.

Candy Canes by Belinda Roddie Now, these candy canes go to Bobby and Jill, who will hang them up on the Christmas tree. And these candy canes go to Connie and Will, who will lick them until all their colors bleed. And these candy canes stay in boxes and bins, 'cause we always purchase too many of them.

You're not gonna get your way with me. No, not with that shitty attitude. Not with that temper and that perspective on who I am, and not with that greasy sneer dragged across your face. I am not interested in your diatribes; I am not going to listen to your excuses. You can pack everything up in one or two bags and get out - you don't get a second chance with me. Hell, you shouldn't have even gotten one.

When There's Heat by Belinda Roddie When she walked my way, the adrenaline zapped my bones and melted them into butter. When she kissed me, she tasted like cinnamon, those lips burning with that extra spice. When she pulled me to the bed, I couldn't help adoring her femininity - the way her skirt made her legs burst forward like soft, but sturdy, redwood tree trunks. I drew her toward me, and we were stirred together into one pot. She took hold of my hair before we descended into the scalding brew - all boiled, bubbling, and to be simmered and served with a smile.