Glamorous

Friday morning started precisely at 7am for Abigail Rudd, as did every morning at Acme Chemical for the past six years. She parked her Volkswagen in the exact same spot and plodded to the front door to start her day managing the front office. Some of her co-workers sat on the loading dock with coffee and cigarettes before their shift. They would watch her pass and say “Good morning” to her. She would say “Good morning” back and there ended their conversation.

Abby was round, the shape and color of a dried gourd but with better skin. Although painfully shy, she wore fashionable patterned skirts as if someone had meticulously painted that gourd. They swung across her wide backside to the delight of some of the more lonely loading dock crew. She had a clumsy gate and kept her arms outstretched as if she were trying to maintain her balance. She had delicate hands and held them in a peculiar way- with her wrist bent, thumb and index finger pinched together, the rest of her fingers fanned outward in the shape of a bird’s wing scooping the air, trying to take flight. Continue reading “Glamorous”

Lady of Green Glen

Black cold night falls
Orange street lamp alights
Snow
It reflects
Illuminates the glen

She appears
Trick of the light
Shadow
Crouched, naked, pale
Porcelain legs

Black hair cascades
Hand covers her mouth
Worry
Fear of discovery
Under the jungle gym

Apparition of a woman
Stands only at night
Frozen
Fades at dawn
Until next dark

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, October 2003 (revised February 2017)

Red Letter Day

On a dark night late in the year, you drove thirty minutes to a post office on the southern edge of downtown, to mail a single letter to someone you will not remember twenty years later. But anyway, it was more to get away, to send some feathers in a red envelope, some feathers from the wings of your heart which longed to fly out from this empty low place, to find a home where it was wanted and needed and valued. You no longer wanted to feel as though there was an impatient curmudgeon named Time waiting by the front door in a worn floral armchair asking, “Oh, you’re still here?”

That is why it did not matter to you that the drive was an hour round trip, to mail a single a letter, to whom you will never remember. It was important. It must have been a boy who you hoped would save you. No one noticed if you were gone for long periods and for long periods, years in fact, you wanted to be gone. Continue reading “Red Letter Day”

The Drive

We stopped along the side of
The winding, narrow two-lane road
That curved out of sight behind the next hill
You cut fresh sagebrush off the side of this arid mountain

It filled the car with the scent of wild outdoors
Which followed us home, a thousand miles to the city
The road ended atop the pink mountains
These Goliath witnesses of eons

Watched the land run red with blood
The essence of the violence
That occurred in the valley below
Had oozed and seeped into the soil

It radiated through the air and into the people
The place I had hoped would become our home
Echoed too hollow and strange
And empty

-Copyright C.M. Mounts, October 2003

Thanksgiving

Karen pulled up to the shoddy beige apartment complex after school on Wednesday afternoon. Pete was released early for the Thanksgiving holiday and he was excited to see his dad. Tim, Pete’s father, had insisted on hosting dinner that year. In the past it had been his favorite holiday, the one day out of the year that he and his brother William got together and prepared the meal for the whole family. That was before Will got shot.

When Tim answered the door Pete jumped into his arms and hugged him. Karen could see the disheveled mess Tim’s apartment had degraded into- scattered papers and beer cans, the trash overflowing, and a stack of pizza boxes in the corner of the living room. Rufus the cat was eating meat off of a chicken bone on a plate that had been left on the floor. As long as the rent was paid the apartment managers left Tim alone. This had not been easy once he lost his job. Pete ran past Tim, threw his overnight bag on the couch, and slid on his knees in front of the TV to the video game console. Karen allowed Tim to kiss her cheek and went to the kitchen to check on the turkey. “Just a second Pete,” said Tim. Continue reading “Thanksgiving”

California, ND 58010

I

The doors here are on barns that contain farm equipment or rusty cars or cattle. They are not Spanish style doors on homes with manicured lawns that face the ocean. The mess here is apparent but no one feels the need to hide it.


II

There are steep hills, too steep than should be built on due to the risk of landslide but rich people build here anyway. They can afford the reinforcements that the homes require and require the reinforcement that a beautiful home with a steep staircase down to a private beach provides. You can swim naked here and if anyone should speed by in a boat, it provides an opportunity for your wife to show off her expensive breasts. It never ices over but sometimes the fog rolls in so thick you cannot see the bottom of the stairs that are suddenly very slick. Those are the times your teenage daughter slips down there to make love to your golf buddy’s second son, the one without the ambition. Continue reading “California, ND 58010”

In Thanksgiving

My dad is great. We did nothing but watch football all day today. Sometimes, my dad will sit all day and play video games with me. He’s been off work for a while on account of him being sick. He cries a lot at night when he stares at the pictures. He doesn’t think I can hear but I hear a lot on the couch. I pretend I’m scared and knock on his door, “Hey dad, can I sleep with you tonight?”

My mom is great. She came and ate dinner with me and dad- just the three of us like we were all living together again. She even sat for a while reading a book so dad and I could watch the football games. That was until she took me back home. I begged her for me to stay but I have to do this stupid homework. They actually assigned us readings and an essay ‘What I did for the Thanksgiving holiday’- can you believe that? Continue reading “In Thanksgiving”