dead drunk dublin and other imaginal spaces
blank image this is the way home poetry - written and spoken stories and creative writings alternative writings, prose, essays, reportage manifestos, insights, alternative views music mp3 original music eyes to see with movies, flash and animations links - click here to read reviews of our favourite websites click to subscribe to our occasional ezine all about dead drunk dublin info on how to contribute to dead drunk dublin

The Temple of Many Hands by Christopher Locke < back  : index  :  next >   

S u r f a c i n g

Driving through the rain, my wife’s
stomach was swollen as the moon―
her ninth month. “Do you feel that?”
she asked, and saying no I pulled away,
grabbing the wheel with both hands.
She lifted her shirt and a small knot
rose in the middle of her belly. Suddenly,
lightning split the sky, and clouds
flickered like a dying brain. A tree
on the corner erupted in orange
sparks, concussion, and I became
the smallness I always knew I was.
As I slid onto the loose shoulder
of the road, my wife screamed
“Keep going! Keep going!”, the flames
glowing in her eyes like church bells.
She held onto her stomach with both hands
while I held onto the wheel.


    < back  : index  :  next >

To contact the editor, email or use our Contact Form here

All contents Copyright © 2000-2010 All rights reserved - The New Media Source Company Ltd, publishers. Authors rights are protected.