When we lost language we all went blind. Our eyes dry, that ache that once allowed us to see you became winter. We shrugged when you died.
Scetches
Flash & Micro Fiction by Llanor Alleyne
Tanti cries with her mouth open
Tanti cries with her mouth open, surrendering her tears to the unimaginable. His bones are joined with the rest without identity or medals.
He transforms the plywood
He transforms the plywood. Maroon, white, blue. There will be a house, trees grander than this shanty; bigger than his father’s dreams.
When he runs his fingers
When he runs his fingers through her hair he feels like undressing his alibis, flimsy as they are. Naked, he wants marriage. Clothed, alone.
We lie here
We lie here. This could be an ocean, but for this quiet valley running between us. I’m too exhausted to say sweet things that you’ll forget.
The kitchen is a cathedral.
The kitchen is a cathedral. The butter on the sideboard in a glorious melt of sunshine outdone only by her mother, a longed for apparition.
I died without the beautiful unfolding
I died without the beautiful unfolding accorded to calla lilies. Had I those days between shoot & droop, what wonders—what works to perform.
I waited and you did come back
I waited and you did come back, but not just you. There was God and an Italian orphaned of good looks & humor. We all had tea. I wept later.
Pulling on the pants, she’s neutered
Pulling on the pants, she’s neutered. Does it matter that she loves her breasts, even bound? She stares at her cheekbones. “I’m still here.”
Newfound song, don’t leave me
Newfound song, don’t leave me without a struggle. I possess this elegance. Rags of the old time on fire now humming wonder from fear.
Guerrilla, my love
Guerrilla, my love, save some passion for me. There’ll be mangoes, freshly cut azaleas & siestas. But your callouses must be ready to soften.