My Cardboard Balcony

Savory by Belinda Roddie I sipped from the cup. But it was not tea.

Glass by Belinda Roddie Her grandmother had a glass eye - spiderwebbed blue, arching light across the diameter of the living room. I was reminded of The Tell-Tale Heart; suddenly, with a murderer, I empathized. That eye lingered like a broken sapphire lost in an aging, gray ring of a face. All fragmented. All battered by time. Cracks disturbed from slumber across her lips and brow. Lopsided nose and chin to finish the cubist portrait. Perhaps I was being far too cruel. For she was not made of glass, yet how fragile she appeared. For she had lost her real eye in a basement long ago, after her angry father had lost his mind over a dry bottle. The neck of that, too, had been shattered. Screams palpitating. Heartbeat screeching fire. Half her vision lost, but memory seared like an engraving on soft gold fingers. I suppose that's why the glass eye looked as if it had fallen, ground into the floor by a boot, and beaten with a hammer. After all, not even a pre...

My One Hairy Knee by Belinda Roddie My left knee's but a child; my right, a man.

Second Try by Belinda Roddie Isn't it befitting how I get a chance to start again so soon, and so effortlessly, like being pulled by the scruff of the neck out of deep waters, just to be tossed in again once I've gotten all my breath back? I've inhaled enough foam and tasted enough salt to sink my soul into a permanent island in the Pacific: Hatched from bayside aeries, I am encapsulated by clipped wings and loud, obnoxious screeching like a human seagull. But here I am, swimming again, pushing my tired body through the currents, as if the destination feels closer than before, even though the fog hides its face, and I don't recognize its smile anymore.

Peanuts by Belinda Roddie The Elephant Rebellion began when the supply dwindled to nothing.

Just A Reminder by Belinda Roddie Y'all forget Martin Luther King, Jr. was super radical, or...? Click here for an article about what I just wrote!