STAINS

Allen Gunn

CONTENTS
Corner of 41st and Kings Walking the Beach Abroad Elegy Three Nights in Czech Republic Untitled Epitaph Place for Dreamer Nightmares With Opened Eyes Letters Home I. A Place Worth Settling II. Along the Riva III. Blumenthals Belk Theater IV. Belonging Greetings In My Ears Stains Journey Home Charons Fading Memory

Photo Credit: C. Antico, 2012

CORNER OF 41ST AND KINGS The boat by the pier The gull waiting by the dock A street vendor starting his day, sweeps the pathway to his shop. Child and mother arrive at the playground. The empty swing sways in the sea breeze. A stray dog pants by the butcher block, begging for leftover scrapings. A sailor arrives Mesmerized by the sea. The spouse sitting at home, Feeding the son, unaware.

WALKING THE BEACH at night sand collecting between my toes. The hollow black sky dotted by constellations. The moon reveals lovers, lusting in the oceans past. Fireworks illuminate the dark from a distant pier. I am running. The tide engulfs my feet, leaving my skin numb. The lovers fade like youthful love. I wither as the sand beneath my feet. I open my eyes. I am alone.

ABROAD They may not understand what we are saying. But they know we are talking. They see us gawking. Tourists.

ELEGY Mother buried son today it was quarter past 3 when her arms let go of life she created. Father stood at your side he held onto you as he lay you down his eyes did not waver, he was proud of you. Its 3 months later mother carries you in her arms she's bringing you home. She respects what you said you're not on shores of South Africa or on lands of Canaveral. you're going home. Its been 3 years and you've still not left. mother walks earth, Canaveral below her feet. Mother looks up at the stars and wonders son, where would you be? her eyes did not waver, she was proud of you.

THREE NIGHTS IN CZECH REPUBLIC A curious hangover from the threat of nuclear Armageddon is still in use across the Czech Republic. It is a feature of life which is at first unnerving, then annoying, and finally reassuring. Rob Cameron, BBC April 2010

I. A trudging walk to the station at half 4 Without a soul in sight, I am more nervous than usual. I recheck a list from memory to numb my nerves. 5 AM arrives a blur, the airport will be my death bed. My eyes are blood red from lack of sleep. I am stable, yet in no way capable. Im not hung-over. 7 AM, I march down the aisle. Manchester to Prague in two hours flat, lies. A discreet marriage of nations at 40,000 feet. The landing is as unsettling as the weather. Getting through customs eases my nerves like vodka. Were headed to Praha hlvan ndra. Breasts & bosoms arent far from vision. Nurturing the talent young ladies possess. I am aroused by my surroundings. Zln is within grasp, a train away. My nose bleeds havent subsided since landing. Theres blood everywhere.

II. UTB was the chant for Univerzita Tome Bati in Zlin, CZ. The last thing I see, a sign I cannot pronounce. In my head it reads, challenge accepted. Foreign eyes bore down the back of my neck as I emerged into the light. I thought we only experience birth once. Skates touch the ice, sending crisp shards into the cold air. UTB UTB UTB I dont think the Queen can save us. puck drops, game on, air-raid sirens pierce my eardrums anxiety sets in Shit. What did I have for breakfast? The beautiful Red Bull girls found me in the locker room. Here, a toast to beauty, na zdrav.

III. She offers a fuck for little in return. My insides are giddy, but my mind knows better. Would her mother be proud? That tart of a daughter. Would her father approve a strangers bulging crotch? Would her pimp empty my insides in a desolate alley? I control my nerves, but still, my impulse screams instinct. Treat others how you want to be treated. Can one be too humane for her profession? I am able to walk away, but with a smile I say, No thank you.

UNTITLED Wife, Child, Dog nestled on the duvet, A study, empty in silence, Its contents untouched. The mother who created life, She greets your passing, Reunited as companions. Flash of white.

EPITAPH Here lies HUMANITY Purpose was served. The image of salvation. Gave everything for nothing. In return, walks away as began: alone.

PLACE FOR DREAMER I's are looking to the skies. The skies aren't looking back. Disgusted; they grin. I's peer to the ground without whisper. A welcome home for sin. Reflections. Are you satisfied?

NIGHTMARES WITH OPENED EYES Time ticks, lonely and unheard An empty street carries the missing silence. I pass by my figure and cast my shadow across its silhouette. I gaze upon the wretched being. Sing me to sleep, strip me of humanity. Wake when the sun sends no warmth. Beckoned, I extend my hand I beg for perdition Empty my soul unto thee, Let my wounds drape across your body until I fill the seas, blood-red as the sky that haunts my breath; until my body is no longer me. The skies are set aflame. Mesmerized, too long Ive waited: Not for forgiveness; for release. Amongst the dead, I make amends.

LETTERS HOME

I. A Place Worth Settling Tragically detached since birth, my heart has wandered for a true anchor to dispossess any notion of doubt. The cities Ive dwelled in north to south do not satisfy my need for tranquility. They only query with an appetite far greater than ones need to survive. They do not latch onto any sense of sincerity. No, if you tethered my heart upon my sleeve, it would lead to a distant city. And nestled in a borough fastened to the welcome sign, I would be found.

II. Along the Riva I sit looking down upon your reflection my first words reverberating against the calm water. I was nave; I did not understand my fascination then. Not beyond the one dimensional conventions that intruded my conscious mind. I am drawn back into my surroundings I see you in the innocent girl frolicking around her melting ice cream cone. I see you in the sun-kissed, gossiping female students. Their feelings are a glass menagerie, waiting to break open. I watch the sea lap softly against the harbor wall, my fingers complacent against the warm stone as if pressed to your hands.

III. Blumenthals Belk Theater I am but a trespasser on ones woeful, past tale. I am but an extension to a being that already exists. He was nothing but a dictated illusion, only tried by convention. Black threads as nauseating as the prospect of spending another bleak midnights time alone. Consumed by a longing for admiration from a delicate figure; But he, when pursued by another, strung-her-out as if in spite. So predictable, I thought of him But I would shift in my sleep, almost as if to enjoy living out a glorious nightmare, provoking deep regret in my saturated conscious. How can one arrive at such a monstrous state? Many wonder their place in a vast world. They search, but never seek from inside out. For a self-egotistical world, why question elsewhere? Failing to question where is my place in myself? I have found mine. It is without you.

IV. Belonging You say you are my home But I am no longer tied I am nomad

GREETINGS IN MY EARS A foreigners ear pronouncing an unfamiliar language. Dough-bar dawn. Kahkoh see tea? Dobar dan, kako se ti? Hah-low, vee-guy-ets? Hallo, wie gehts? Bahn-jew-or! Coh-mow say-vah? Bonjour! Comment cest va? Oh-lah, coh-mow eh-stah sin-your? Hola, Com est, seor? A-hoy, ya-ck say mahs? Ahoj, jak se m? Zdravo, alles gut, trs bien, bien, mm se dobe. Followed by silence.

STAINS They occur without warning, uninvited by many; welcomed only by the careless. A doggy-bag from lunch, a childish mishap on the playground. They are inclusive of any situation. They show no prejudice. Yet theyre not intending to make a political statement. Some are like emotions, brushed aside with ease. Others stay embedded in the fabric of our makeup, to be buried as rags. Although on display to a prying world, they reveal no secret, but a tale to some degree. They are not taboo enough to make tabloids. They are an everyday occurrence.

JOUNREY HOME Standing at the top of the street The car revs onto the main road Waving a solemn goodbye to an ended past. The future looms between tall oak trees Nestled in an unfamiliar land. The car is silent Except for the churning speedometer A lonely feeling is comforted by a stranger A relative one will never meet One whose tears will never be seen. But the journey is similar. Suburbs become an endless canal The Manhattan skyline, looms like mountains The capital guiding the American Dream. The car crossing unseen state borders. Imagination transcends into fixed reality. Wondering which will be mine.

CHARONS FADING MEMORY The cottage stood by a lake its four-pane windows and single wooden door alight by a fire burning in the stove a rocker placed by the dying embers perched upon the faded cushion, a forgotten elder-woman, hidden beneath tattered quilts outside, the world unfolds, as it has since she was born the snow-patched land undisturbed the full moons light, not even kissing the night a lone fox wanders onto the plain, but quickly scurries away memories imprinted with each step it takes a rook quivers atop a distant branch a respected enemy, crows an end.