She said she liked
leg warmers and stained-glass Jesuses
shaman drums and Miss America swimsuits
fly eyes and Kufi caps
Queen jubilees and taco trucks
She thought
private parts should be covered with star stickers
and Mona Lisa looked like formaldehyde
my army men ought to carry around lightsabers
and sharks dreamed of coral reefs
She said that
only African women know how to dress right
and on the top of Mount Everest you can go blind
the Pharaohs of Egypt could kiss her all day
except Ramses XI because he probably looked like sand
One day I asked her
if she would ever want to fly to the moon
she said only the Milky Way
that we should make Sundays with cotton candy ice cream
and later put marbles in the bottom of her goldfish tank
I said to her
that I finally understood what she meant
and that I thought girls were just plain silly
but she just put her palm up to my loopy lips
and grabbed her kaleidoscope to clock me in the head
About the Creator
Paul Aaron Domenick
The results of my poetry and fiction are unconditional in that every piece I publish is a singularity of sufficient creative struggle. It is in exchange with you that the struggle is extended. So, thanks for reading and responding.
Keep reading
More stories from Paul Aaron Domenick and writers in Poets and other communities.
It's Raining, It's Snowing
Author's Note: It really is snowing out there right now. It is the time of year when we aren't sure what we will see. Almost all of our snow on the fields was gone. We are thinking of spring, when it snows. The title is similar to what we would sing when it was raining when I was growing up. The correct words are, "It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring." Based on a story from many years ago about an old man who bumps his head and can't get up in the morning.
By Denise E Lindquist4 days ago in Poets
Becca
"Everything is so... flat." Denille said stupidly as she looked around her new neighborhood. She looked around at the muted desert where even the smallest sign of life seemed to have given up. The plant life was shrubs that were half cooked by the heat and where there should have been a lawn, a mess of white rocks laid glistening in the sun. Even the sky looked stretched thin, like the sun had ironed it smooth. She’d moved from Riverside, where at least there were hills, but here in Barstow, everything felt baked and brittle.
By Sara Wilson8 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
"Reading the first stanza, I didn't know if you were praising her for the breadth of her mind or for her eccentricity and the contrast in her preferences. It is very nice to keep the reader on shifting sands—a little, just a little, so that critical thinking exists. How much upside-down DNA this superior existence has, after all. To see vomit instead of art and to beautify the little soldiers with a childish, playful fantasy—I have already started envying your writing. What are you taking, brother (joking). You will make me ashamed to write. Wow. The reference to the Pharaoh really pulled me in. You know that Sarah, Abraham's—not the neighbor's, poor brother—became an object of desire for the Pharaoh of that time. Ah, those Pharaohs wanted them all for themselves. And did they all have a good reputation? Anyway, this isn't a small potato, as I understand it. One of the sutras I use is the moon. When the moon and the sun are together, I go crazy. I'm for a cold shower then. Oh friend, watch your head—she doesn't joke. Everest is safer than her. Be well. (I commented stanza by stanza. I hope you don't mind.)"