A Good Day, In Early January by Nicole Henares

 

There was nothing dramatic:
His boot fell apart in the snow
and started making funny flapping sounds.
My shoes had anarchy symbols in the soles
and left strange tracks
next to the paw indentations of a mountain lion.
(Though they might have been from a large dog.)

Yes, everything was technicolor:
Spectacular browns and simple golds.
(Somehow the sky always seems more blue over snow.)

I correctly predicted that somewhere
there had to be a good Chinese food restaurant.
There were also thrift stores with weirdly endearing names,
and an ice cream counter with square scoops.

And when I fell asleep while babbling
about the “wild God of the world,”
I felt him gently take off my glasses
and place them on the nightstand, softly.

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Purse Notes by Nicole Henares

with apologies to Fydor Dosteovsky

I am a wicked girl
I am a lazy girl
My achilles tendon throbs;
I can no longer avoid
the dirty bubbles of inertia.
I sing out a song of the underground
lapses that nag under the surface and lie
waiting for pernicious bites.
My mouth is stitched and my fingers are glued
to a pen I cannot find.  My purse is not a knock-off
but an abyss
of scraps that invite in the glow-worms of inspiration.