The Bookends Review

Of Virginia Woolf

‘We are the words. We are the music. We are the thing itself.’ Moments of Being

Are we the things we think we are?
Or is there another music
with words we have never heard?
Something close to the heart
becomes the essence of us,
a truth enabling the sense to be
what is spoken, what is sung.
This sound evades the silence.
There lies the fear within,
of never being believed.… ...continue reading

We were supposed to be having babies,
Raising life in a little historic townhouse
Ideally downtown, so that I could walk
To the coffee shop everyday with the
Dog and the kids.
I wonder if we would have had a girl
First, or a boy.
Would we have stopped at one? Two?
Surely not three.
Would we have taken family photos
At every holiday and have large canvases
Of our smiling faces covering the walls?
Would we have worn matching outfits–
After you pitched a fit of course–
Or would we be more subtle,
Maybe some matching shoes?
Would our daughter have my nose and
Our son, your eyes?
I can see us now–
Curled up in bed, with the dog in between
My legs, a spunky pigtailed daughter
Kicking my ribs in her sleep,
And a mousy younger brother who
Accidentally knocks over the collection
Of bottles on your bedside table–  crying
Because daddy hasn’t had much sleep
And is quick to anger when hungover–
The floor covered in shit because the
Dog was not let out before you
Stumbled into bed
And me, eyes wide open
But stiff as a board
Not minding the
Repeated jabs in the ribs.… ...continue reading

There is something sinister in the strings.
Brooding underskirts comment and rustle outside and between legs.
Invisible undergarments bustle and bounce making wearers levitate to the floor.
And on some days you can dance love,
And on others passion, or sorrow, or joy.
But today under uncertain cellos,
The waltz is forgiveness.

Love
Hate
Late.

I catch you in my blinking eye, straight ahead, a few comfortable handbreadths away.
An eye and face familiar, inviting, like a favorite overstuffed chair
Or warm quilt, heavy blankets, slip inside shivering and kicking until burning and have to stick one foot out into the cold.
Or a favorite story that’s been told over and over again until every inflection of every word is known before it’s said,
While I drift off and pull my leg back into bed.… ...continue reading

     I played my part. I went to war
for you every day. I couldn’t foretell disaster.
But I knew this connection was temporary.
I provided an end to a means. I was the portal
to your survival. I was your everlasting god.

     I took that as a privilege. I never withheld
support. You never needed triage or bravery.
Things were mildly disconcerting once,
but I did my magic. I stopped interference
quickly and valiantly. No one gave me laurels
or tried to hang a medal around my neck.
(But who needs a neck for this kind of work?)

     One day, without warning, we were thrust
into the light, a scary premise for all that time
sitting in the dark, waiting. As I said, I had
a feeling this would happen.… ...continue reading

Bananas

Woody’s eyes were only half open. He was debating closing them and trying to sleep for a few minutes on the bus as it was slowly zipping along – that’s how he explained it to Louie, his drinking buddy: “In rush hour traffic, the bus can’t do better than zipping slowly. But it’s cheaper than driving and paying for parking. And I can get another fifteen minutes sleep. Got a great internal alarm clock. Diiing -ding -ding.” And he’d always make sure to ding a couple of times before slamming his hand down on the table or the bar where they were drinking.

And since the bus was zipping along he saw the white cake box on the curb for less than a second before it disappeared, “erased in the bus wash” was how he put it that very night in Jerry’s Jug.… ...continue reading

A crimson glimmered beneath its jaws in the moonlight. It latched onto Silas’ neck and thrashed until he stilled.

Aries’ eyes widened in shock – processing.

The jaws crunched on its prey, salivating and indulging. Suddenly, the wolf stopped. It looked up. Its eyes glowing red with fury and desire.

“Aries!” His mother’s hooves thundered as she dragged him away and abandoned their friend to his fate.

The cold, brisk headwind grazed their faces as their hooves struggled through the deep snow. The wolf howled behind them, the malicious sound echoing throughout the entire mountain range.

Several moons had passed since the incident, yet Aries remained stuck there. He recounted the events, picking it apart piece by piece, bargaining, begging, despairing.

The afternoon sun acted only as a light in the hazy sky, selfishly withholding its warmth as though it were a child withholding candy.… ...continue reading

— After “What Goes Around” by G. E. Stinson

Drop a pebble into the water
Snap your finger, cry your name
And the circle
The perfect circle slowly leaves
The perfect circle raggedly finds.

One day waves click drums and hammers
One day waves will reach the shore
And the circle
Goes around
It comes around
It goes around once more.

Light a candle in the darkness
Somewhere someone finds a door.
You can will the rain into a stream,
Cry your words into the sky and floor.
You are the only one who hears
You are the only one who reads.

I can feel the water on my feet
The same as yesterday and last year,
Water of this river, of this sea
I can tell you I’ve have been here before
And have never been here before

You speak
The world turns around
I speak
The world turns around
Words turn into water
Streams run across the sky
And return to the sea
You speak and the words return to me.… ...continue reading