Midnight Reminiscence by Britnie Walston
I Wanted There to be Water
We went back today, drove along the ash-laden
road into the mountains where we used to live
and love. The big pit, our basement, where we
made art and wrote and read and lay in the folds
of quilts and watched movies until we fell asleep.
Fern fronds and grass and some weeds that
I used to describe as pesky. Now I love them, their
scratchy stems and unkempt rat-a-tat hair-dos.
I welcome them to crawl up my bruised shins
into my lap and nap if they like, use my body
for a tactile symbiosis.
It’s delicate here and sacred like a Buddhist’s
garden. All things come together slowly, the
parade of wishes and ashes, the promises that
we bore on our backs as we escaped that day
with our lives, two dogs, and some photograph
albums. That’s all we needed at the time.
The Predicament of Breathlessness, II
Since you’ve been gone,
I’ve been vaping a void
trying to acclimate with-
out your skin and breath.
The table is bare no matter
what’s on its surface, and
the dogs seem sad on Friday
when you don’t show up at 5.
The wine is flat and the olives
bore me; the air is stale and
the furniture doesn’t sit right.
It’s hard to breathe again.
In 7 years or so I might be able
to look back and say it worked,
but I might be dead by then
and would have missed being
with the only one I know who
can boldly say that she loves me.
The Trouble with Living with a Morning Person
I am having trouble getting out of bed
before you have your second cup of
Eight-O’Clock. Too late for a decent
conversation. Iam having trouble forming
the “a” in my first word; you have almost
completed a mini-essay. There are drops
of pee on the bathroom floor and my
Kleenex didn’t make it into the garbage
receptacle. And there you are, frying up
eggs and making toast and talking way
too fast for comprehension. Holy Jesus,
man, slow down. Parlez lentement. Give
me a reason to live. The children next
door are waiting on the school bus in the
dark and they should be screaming the
way kids always are, but I can’t hear them
for you, chatting about things I can’t recall,
rattling pots and pans, sticking them back
into their proper places. Let me sit in peace,
please, and have my first cup of coffee, and
relearn how to form words and sentences
so I can get a word in edgewise. Please.
About the author:
John Dorroh may have taught secondary science for a couple of decades. Whether he did is still being discussed. His poetry has appeared in about 75 journals, including Dime Show Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Red Dirt Forum, Dead Mule Society, and Tuck.
In the artist’s words:
Britnie Walston is a Maryland based versatile artist and photographer, capturing energy through light, vibrant color, depth, and texture. The use of exaggerated brushstrokes and abstract color give her paintings life and voice. Her landscapes and abstract work consist of a variety of unconventional techniques to capture the elements portrayed. One of the most used techniques in her abstract paintings, is the method of mixing each individual color using acrylic paint, floetrol, silicone, and water. Together, they create “cell like” forms. Britnie also achieves different designs and textures using household objects such as strainers, straws, and frosting spatulas. She aims to depict the emotions of liberation (“set free”) and freedom (“being free”). As a child who grew up around the Chesapeake Bay, her work as a whole, is inspired by nature and portrays the absence of human presence, bringing out the personality of nature itself, while providing the viewer the opportunity to escape and appreciate all the beauty that surrounds us.
More of her work can be found at www.BNWArt.com