My Cardboard Balcony

If You Can't Stand It... by Belinda Roddie This late April heat is more suitable for the summer gods who sip lemonade through a snorkel, who dip bruised knees into soggy birthday cake, who chew confetti and laugh louder than fireworks on Pseudo-Patriotic Day. They convene over beer - suds sprout like their own beards. Fried delights swell their stomachs, where they carry music like unborn children in perfect pitch wombs. This late April heat sticks so sourly to me - gummy sugar and caramel apple grins spliced with edible cotton, carnival rides leaving straw tracks on my back and shoulders. I'm too lethargic to wave my rubber arms in the air - I'm too tired to wave my jump rope silly string arms in the air - I'm too tired to kiss you when Sundays drip into endless streams, when ice cream doesn't numb me enough, when hot showers chill the hard knock bones in my chest. I crave mountain air and ice in my teeth, froste...

Migraine by Belinda Roddie It's as if all premonitions are locked behind my right eye, collecting stars in my sinuses - the cosmic dust clogs the tunnels within, ironically blots out light. I sleep for an extra four hours to stave off the pain, only to embrace the throbbing, that bare bone percussion, that endless war drum when all I want for myself is peace.

The Sweetness by Belinda Roddie When Napoleon asked for something different than butter, he received a sweetness he did not imagine possible. Even beef can have a beauty, and tallow a tang. Now, we scoop it from plastic buckets and savor it as if we're making better life decisions for ourselves. But I won't budge: I crave, and shall always crave, the true utter gorgeousness of dairy.