Somewhere between male and female the soul lives unstirred by the memory of childhood. Somewhere between the Destroyer of Obstacles and the Goddess of Fortune the soul lives in a state of constant hip hop guided by a white flashlight. Somewhere between now and now the soul lives possessed by the certainty that it is always in transition and will always live in between the present and the present. Somewhere between Terminal 2 and Terminal 3 the soul lives in a million humans who will pass through life in the third person. Somewhere between the Real Shiva and the Statue of Shiva on display at the Art Institute of Chicago the soul lives in every person. In between the clowns and grapefruits. In between the yellow bus driver and the happy waiter. In between the zoo and the opera house. Between life and death. The soul lives light as a father. Or feather.
“It takes courage to be afraid.” –Montaigne, Essays, III, 6 (1588) Nothing scares the sun anymore. Not even sinking into the black sea. Not even the black sea and its power over sunsets. Not even the scars or parked cars on Sunday or the squirrels that dream of big things from the tops of enormous […]
The bridge & cranes dream of dogs and cats. They squint and find wormholes into other worlds. What they discover: there’s always one light that’s brighter than the other. And they are drawn to its luminescence with purpose. But there’s always something else in the distance, they think. Their fiercely squinted eyes look funny to […]
If you wait long enough, a shaggy dog will run by looking for dreams and bones. If you dream of water, the dog may dream of water with you. The dog may jump in the ocean as if he is dreaming. Eventually, he will swim back to shore soaked in a dream of his own […]
My name is Neil de la Flor and I am Almost Dorothy. I’m also the Executive Director of Reading Queer.Today, I need your help! Please consider supporting RQ’s mission to transform the community through the act & the art of creative writing @ http://readingqueer.org.
He jogs. Squirrels race other squirrels. A poem watches on tippy toes. Its skinny neck erect as the trunk of a royal palm. You and I bury seeds in the winter garden. An arthritic labrador pees on the light post. It’s 9:02. He reads. A rat climbs the palm tree to access the roof. Other […]
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