"This is it at last, this is the secret we've been waiting for." -James Tate, from Return to the City of White Donkeys

Childhood

I left my office building a bit early on Friday. Listen here, bum a man said, as I walked by. I stopped. Excuse me I said. I’ve had about enough of you the man said. I looked up and down the street. Nobody was around, probably because I had left so early, and rush hour hadn’t begun yet. I think you may be mistaken, sir. I’m no bum I said. I know a bum when I see one the man said. I’m actually pretty well off I said. I’ve watched you, you bum he said. I have a decent job, a nice apartment I said. Going in and out of that building, like you own the place he said. I have a pleasant, quiet dog I said. Wearing that suit, but I know you’re really just a bum he said. We both stopped talking at the exact same moment. It was eerily silent, and, by now, it must have been rush hour. For a second, I was sure that we were the last two people left on earth. Me, and this accusatory man. I wanted to hold him, to make sure he was real, and to make sure he would never leave me. I grabbed the man. Get your filthy paws off me, you damn bum he said. I was beginning to wonder about myself. I forgot where I was going, and where I had come from. I couldn’t explain the clothes I was wearing. I couldn’t even explain why I was standing. I was a wisp of air that took shape every once in a while, appearing and disappearing in the shape people wanted. Or, that’s how I felt. This man wanted me to be a bum. And, so, I became a bum. You’re right I said. I am a bum. The man smiled. I know he said. Will you buy me some food, I’m very hungry I said. Of course he said.

"We rocked back and forth as if some raggedy sense had snuck back into our lives." -James Tate, from Worshipful Company of Fletchers

Blend

I was busy on a day of running errands. My next stop was a haircut, which was long overdue. I drove to Carl’s Barber Shop, where I was a loyal customer, going every month for at least ten years. As the familiar bell tinkled when I opened the door, I was met by an unfamiliar barber. Hello, sir. How can I help you the unfamiliar barber said. Where’s Carl I said. Carl has been having some health issues. My name is Jeremy, and I’m here to watch shop for a little while, until Carl recovers. Jeremy was older. At least sixty, with a magnificent head of brilliantly white hair. He wore thick-rimmed glasses with thick glass, magnifying his blue eyes slightly. I decided to trust him with my hair. I had other, bigger, more important errands to run that day, anyway. Ok, well, my name is Henry Hudsin. Has Carl mentioned anything about me I said. Jeremy’s eyes brightened. Oh, Mr. Hudsin, Carl has told me all about you, how you’ve been one of his most valued customers for at least the last decade he said. I smiled. Yes, yes, well, has he told you how I like my hair to be cut I said. Jeremy nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. Of course, of course, I think I can handle it he said. I would have been surprised if he said he couldn’t. It was really just a trim with the scissors, nothing all too spectacular. He sat me in one of the chairs, wrapping a cloth around my neck, draping it over my front. He disinfected his comb, and pulled out a spray bottle, spraying my hair wet, and combing it every which way. He then pulled out a pair of scissors, and started cutting away. How’s your day going Jeremy said. Oh, just fine. Busy. Lots to do, still, also I said. Jeremy then pulled out a pair of shears, and started using those on my hair. Tough hair, you’ve got there he said. How long have you been cutting hair I said. Oh, my whole life, really. My father was a barber, and my grandfather, and his father. As far back as I know, I come from a very long line of barbers he said. He then pulled out clippers, and began buzzing the back of my head. Is that so I said. Jeremy nodded. Hold on just one moment he said, walking over to the back room. He walked back, holding a set of pliers and a small saw. With the pliers, he would tug at a tuft of my hair, and then saw it off with the small saw. Er, are you sure you know what you’re doing I said. Jeremy stopped, set his tools down, and sat in the chair next to mine. He buried his face in his hands, and began crying. I’m sorry he said. I’m no good. I shook my head. No, no, really, it’s alright I said. He began crying even harder. I never was a good barber. I only started because I thought I would make my father proud, but I just don’t have a knack for cutting hair he said. It’s just hair, really I said. I’m old, and lonely, and I’m afraid that I’ll die without having accomplished a thing as a barber. I wasn’t sure what to do. I had to get going soon, with all the other errands to run, but I didn’t want to leave this poor wreck alone. I went to him and put my hand on his shoulder. Hey, listen there, pal I said. He looked up at me, sniffling like a small child. Would you like to come with me I said. I have some very important errands to run, still, and I could use a hand. Jeremy looked around the shop. Well, I’ll have to close up, but that’s all right, now that you’ve come in. You’re the only customer Carl’s got he said. I felt a sense of pride and sadness all at the same time. Jeremy locked up Carl’s Barber Shop, and we walked to my car hand in hand, and I knew he was pretending I was his father, taking him on some sort of adventure, and I didn’t mind.

"It was false baby with false baby's breath." -James Tate, from Worshipful Company of Fletchers

Soil

I happen upon myself in the kitchen. I’m making a salad of some sort, but I don’t want salad, I want that leftover pasta. I try to tell myself this, but every time I open my mouth to speak, I also open my mouth to speak, and so I just stand there, mouth ajar, breathing in and in and in, stopping each time to see what I had to say, until I feel faint. I try to sit, but then I sit right down in the chair I was going to sit in, but then, after a pause, I sit there anyway. I think what the hell, may as well sit where I’m sitting and I sit there with myself. I say to myself boy, have you changed and I nod at myself very solemnly. You used to be one of the good guys, then you sold out, you sold our plans, you betrayed us and for what, for this meager apartment and uneventful life I say. My stomach growls. I’m hungry, but I keep stealing every bite I try to eat. I curse myself every time, and every time I threaten to leave the table, and never come back again, and I wished that you, or I, would.

"I had until seven to find the human in me, to teach him to walk and talk, and maybe even to care." -James Tate, from The Ghost Soldiers

Fumes

I told a joke at work, and a few people began laughing, quietly, at it. I felt embarrassed, because I had told them that it was the most incredible joke I had ever heard. I could tell they were laughing with disdain, truly disappointed at the lack of punch in the joke. After everyone had slunk off to do their work, I went back to my office, and began working also. A few minutes later, I heard knocking on my door, and my boss entered my office. Dallas, we need to have a word she said. I looked at my computer screen for a moment, and nodded. Ok I said. I got up from my desk, and we walked down the long corridor of cubicles, to her office, at the other end of the building. She closed the door behind her. Dallas, it’s come to my attention that you’ve told a joke again she said. I let out a burst of nervous laughter. Well, er, yes I said. I was told that you were of the impression that it was the most incredible joke that you had ever heard she said. I shrugged. Yes, although, now, after having told it, I may reconsider I said. Tell me the joke she said. I told the joke, laughing like an imbecile once I was finished. My boss just stared at me, stone-faced, shaking her head slowly. That really was bad she said. I’m sorry I said. This is bad for company morale, you can’t tell jokes like that to anybody, ever, anymore she said. I looked down at my feet. Nobody at work ever got me, or my humor. I was selling out comedy shows across the nation, and these zombies still wouldn’t laugh. I walked back to my office, a low moaning following me, my undead boss slowly following, my other undead coworkers following suit. I shut my office door behind me, locked it, and set a laughing track on at full volume. It drowned out their screaming, moaning, and the strange gurgling noise they always seemed to make. They scratched violently at the door. I hoped I would make it out that day, like I hoped every day.

"You were born to feel a way you don't have a word for." -Matthew Zapruder, from Come On All You Ghosts

Moon

I go through a door

and behind me it locks

and there are two doors

in front of me

I choose the left door

and I go through the door

and behind me it locks

and there are two more

doors waiting

I choose the right door

and I go through

and it locks

and there are two more

and it’s so dim now

I can barely see

and it’s getting colder

with every door I go through

and I choose the left door

and I must be brave

for continuing in this way

slowly going blind

and numb

"I begin to wonder who I am because I don't look like me." -Zach Schomburg, from Scary, No Scary

Scarves

The sun came out, and so I begin to evaporate. You notice this first as my skin receding from my hands, my hair disappearing. You offer me a glass of water, but it’s too late for that. I’m bald and skinless and the process is only intensifying. My vision changes, on account of my eyes fading into a gaseous state and floating upwards to the sky. I now see around our house, the trees, the river and downstream to the next town, like multiple bird’s eye views. I try to explain this to you over your hysterics, only that I’m a bit hysterical myself, and my mouth is all around you, so I’m unable to speak. My skin itches and I try to scratch it against branches and our roof. My bones are now drafts of wind, and I’m carried away, everywhere, and seemingly endlessly. I’m nothing and everything all at once. It feels like jumping into a pool and bursting into flames at the same instant. I’ll fall soon again, and I hope to form correctly, and find you sitting there, complete, and unbroken.

"I started firing every which way, blind as a bat." -James Tate, from The Ghost Soldiers

Mourning

You shoved an envelope into my chest. I had no idea who you were. Here, take this you said. But don’t open it. I grabbed the envelope, and held it. Hide it hide it you said. I put it under my shirt. Now, don’t read it until the time is right. I nodded. We’re all depending on you you said. I nodded again, a bit more enthusiastically this time. Take this seriously you said. The timing has to be perfect. I patted my chest, where the envelope was resting. You remember your instructions. I looked around, making sure nobody was watching us. Consider your training. I bent down, and laced up my now unlaced boot. Everybody is the enemy, now. This is the attitude you must have. I karate-chopped the air and smiled. Don’t joke. I changed my demeanor, and became more solemn. But act natural. I straightened my mouth, and raised my eyebrows, uncertain of what to do, exactly, anymore. We’re all depending on you you repeated, and then a van pulled up. You entered through the sliding door, and the van screeched off around the corner. I walked down the street, and took a seat at the coffee shop. An enemy smiled at me as she walked by. Another enemy approached me and asked if I’d like anything, like a cup of coffee. I would be going down some sort of rabbit-hole soon, but, for then, I would order a cappuccino, and drink it, wondering who you were, and who you intended to give this envelope to, the envelope poking into my chest like a knife all the while. I would feel lonely, and part of something greater, all at the same time. I wouldn’t want to let everybody down.