My wife goes to a small town in Guatemala and buys greasy textiles, a lot of them from one favored vendor. When the vendor runs out of goods, she literally takes her shirt off her back and hands it to my wife. My wife leaves, satisfied with her purchases. The vendor stands there, topless, holding a twenty-dollar bill. Her gentle smile covers her like a bikini.
Rainy Morning in the Sur
Rain blows from the ocean up the canyon. Fog hangs on the mountains across the way. My leg wants to kick my wheel; my hands want to shape wet clay.
I want to forget non-essentials, forget human connections, fraught with difficulty. My head wants to get wet as I walk through the brush to my studio. My leg wants to kick. My hands want to shape.
The guitar maker, my best friend, also withdraws from the babbling world. Loathsome is the word that best describes that place. People make his skin crawl. In his workshop are guitars in various stages of completion, Redwood, rosewood, maple. He finally found bodies and necks he could adore.
The monument is surrounded by cowboys and peasants, miners, pizza throwers, future popes, future ax murderers, white collar criminals of all denominations, and the guitar maker. They all want to gaze on the smooth marble; the Roman figure emerging in all her glory as the archaeologist lovingly removes the ancient mud.
Life hacks into the guitar maker just as he’s found his identity, just as he’s crafted the small details of his Self, refined them , sanded then down like smoothing a guitar. Life is a bad child with a gouging tool.
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over six hundred of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad, including CAVALCADE OF STARS. He has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize for work published in 2012, 2013, and 2014. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. He lives in Denver.