Category: January Stories

Minnesota Nice Meet Minnesota ICE.

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Good said, “I’m not mad at you.” 
ICE said, “Fucking bitch.” Then he shot her. 
What would Freud say? 
Opposing instincts, 
Eros, the life force versus Thanatos, the death force. 

Comity versus violence. 
Consensus versus fascism.
What would Jesus say?
Turn the other cheek.
Like Martin Luther King, like Mahatma Gandhi, like Jesus himself.

What would George Harris III say?
Flower Power. Carry a carnation. Insert it into the barrel of a soldier’s gun. 
Hope they’re so surprised they forget to shoot you. 
But I’m mad. I want to bloody curse.
Choose life, choose love.

Don’t be mad, be transformative.

Sitting For a Haircut When Labor Starts

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“Cut it short. This might be my last haircut for a while .”

Another contraction, then they stopped. Like the baby knew we needed to get this done.

Was this the best use of time? Could I have done without it? But it wasn’t the haircut I wanted. I wanted to tie up all the loose ends in my life in a neat bow.  I wanted to be ready to give my all to this baby.

At REI I bought a blouse. One that wasn’t meant for a pregnant person. And then I was ready. At least, I thought I was.

Oh Lord, Let Me Be the Person My Answering Machine Thinks I Am.

I’d like to change the message on my answering machine, but I want to do it myself. Why? Imagine if I asked for help. First, who even has an answering machine? And second, I would have to decide who to include in the message.

My kids have moved away, but the answering machine has no idea. Will it feel betrayed when it finds out? Will it wonder how long it’s been living a lie. Even I can’t remember.

Better outsource the problem. Maybe I’ll win a recording on Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me. My answering machine won’t question Paula Poundstone.

How to Turn a Gremlin

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“It’s a wonder I don’t do more damage. I bunk in the wheel well of an airplane and live on leftover military meals.” Unrepentant, the gremlin had been caught sabotaging a bomber. 

The interrogator didn’t know what to think. The gremlin was no more than three feet tall, dressed in rags from a bygone era, and furry enough that the wheel well story was credible. “Whose side are you on?”

“Are there sides?”

“There’s a war on.” The interrogator felt sorry for the stubborn creature. Would he work for the Allies? He looked so miserable. “How about some home cooking?”

A Doggie Solution

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I had a lover and then we split. He wanted the dog. So did I. I won that fierce argument. The ex settled for visits.

The dog was a steady companion, a good judge of character. He loved us both and told us so with sloppy licks. He sniffed the air in that doggie way that senses tension, anger, sweet innocence. He buried the bones of contention so that we could be friends.

Doggie romped, played, distracted, comforted in the language of liquid eyes and soft tongue against tear stained cheeks. Stayed close, healing pain with sweet and kind attentiveness.

The End of Empire

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Haven’t you heard? The elder statesman is packing. 
Emperor Discord is prancing to Palatine Hill in a red toga. 
He’s promised bread and circuses. 
He’s planning a retro-empire Roman regime.

After the wall comes the coliseum. 
No need to go in person. See pictures on X. 
Read the retweets. Watch Fox trust, they will not verify. 
Comedians, prepare to roast.

The joke’s on us. All the bread is meant for the one percent. 
Even now, they’re pulling up the stakes on the circus tent. 
You’ll find the performers leaving at midnight on the gravy train. 
Ticket  price: unwavering, groveling loyalty.

Wishing Spring

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Until spring comes, Persephone will fill the Styx with tears of longing for her mother.
Caught in the prison of Hades’s grasping power, she mourns.
Caught in the devil of the season, we wish it done.

We cry for hope.
Hope that the dark sky opens. That sunlight shines on puddles and nourishes green shoots of grass. 
Grass like flying carpets.
Take us from this dark country, soar high on a hope and a prayer.

A hope that Persephone and Demeter will be united
in love of Mother Earth. Their garden will bloom again. 
A prayer for spring. For redemption.

Wishing on a Glass Slipper

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Cindy earned while her stepsisters played. Her stepmother said retail work builds character. And isolation. Cindy was the only one in the shoe store when a Ren Fair guy came in and asked for glass slippers.

“Like in fairy tale land? No. Never seen anything like that.”

“They carry you away. Wherever you want to go.”

“But I don’t think we have them.”

“Worth checking. Wish come true.”

Cindy found one pair, her size, on a dusty shelf. From thin air it appeared.

“You mean these?”

“Try them,” he said.

They were hard, slippery, “I can’t walk.”

“Wish,” he said.

Ratatouille

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“Watch for the dog. I’ll shred the persimmon.” It was essential that tonight’s sitting go well. The food critic, Ratatouille, whose biopic took the world by storm, would be dropping by to review the restaurant. Their swanky Peninsula location near home gardens filled with fresh produce was ideal. The rats hoped for a five star rating.

When the dog stopped patrolling at 9, it would be safe to open. Gaston checked the sky for Orion. Waiters set out piles of persimmon, pine nuts, and dried passion fruit in the garden shed.

Someone shrieked. Ratatouille? A satisfied cat turned the corner.

If Hans Christian Anderson Were Writing Now

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Atticus Finch had never represented a bird. “So, let’s get this. You want to sue your adoptive parents.” 

“I had a terrible childhood. Bullied, teased. They called me Ugly Duckling.” The swan had tears in his eyes.

Maybe they were real, maybe it was just good acting. Horatio Swan was a highly popular leading cob. His beak was a fixture on Netflix and HBO.

Atticus leaned back in his chair. “Why now? You’ve said publicly your tough childhood led to the success you enjoy.”

Horatio trumpeted, “I’ve learned things in rehab. The price I paid. My inner cygnet is traumatized.”