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One blue stick

Robert Cole

There is just shy space and the pasta,

her arm tugging at the strands pasted to the bottom.

She sees it as an allegory for her life,

half the serving wasted from not paying attention.

When the bowl is set and steaming there is just

the dining room table covered with clothes.  No

room for a cup or napkin-no room for neccesity,

responsibility, possibility.

"Is there room for inspiration?"

She thinks this until tears arrive,

feathering down her scrunched and palm-crutched

cheek,

evaporating like the butter, melting like sleep

into her skin.

Then she herds herself to bed.  Those green

lacquered eyes falling behind her lids,

her beautiful face being dragged through unhealthy,

unnatural regret.  She'll never see her real face in any mirror.

But before long these nights will have chiseled out a woman

with enough vibrant, deliberate purpose to raise a man

from her kicking womb.

Robert Cole is a 20 year old emerging writer from Edmond, Oklahoma, and a regular contributor to NONzine, a local publication distributed throughout the state.  He enjoys folk music, short fiction, and cultural tolerance.