All posts by sunydempo

61, 79, 202, 222, 335, 376, 828, 895, 1153, 1172, 1222, 1326, 1347, 1474, 1562, 1590, 1766, 1898, 2131, 2321, 2729

“Some stories must be read backwards to be truly understood,” she told him nonsensically, as he sat watching the ripples.

“It’s manga,” he replied. “It’s not backwards; it’s just echoing its origins.”

“You’re so pretentious,” she spat back.

He sighed, wishing it were warm enough to swim. She was afraid of the lake.

He had been so excited about quitting his boring nine-to-five. He had thought that escaping away, leaving behind his things and experiencing simplicity would be an awakening. She had been excited too. Or so he had thought.

Now he realized things were all that they had had in common.

It had taken them the better part of their youth to build a home together. Now neither of them was at home with the other. Perhaps all they had built was a house.

She stood up from her canvas chair and stretched in the familiar way, with her arms high above her head so that her body curved totally from toes to fingers. He used to poke her ribs when she did this, and she would pretend to hate it. Then one day she decided she really did hate it.

“I’m going up to the cabin,” she said sweetly, making up for the jab. “Nap time.”

He kissed her. Their ten thousandth kiss, though neither knew that.

He wearily picked up his fishing pole and cast off. The romanticism of catching his own dinner each night was beginning to wear off.

Twenty minutes later, he felt the pull and placed his feet firmly on the dock for strength. It was a big one.

Finally, standing now, the fish broke to the surface. It was big, and he felt a bit more excited than usual at his excellent catch.

He plopped his dinner down and noticed its unusual markings. It looked scarred, but deliberately so. It was as if a message had been carved into the side of it.

“Hello,” the fish said, scaring the man but not quite surprising him. He knew something about the fish was off the moment he saw the scars.

“I don’t have much time,” it continued.

The man could tell it was already having trouble breathing. So he did not interrupt, many questions though he had.

“I was sent to ask you what you are doing.”

The man thought for only a moment. The fish was wriggling uncomfortably.

“Well I suppose you mean that in a grand sense. I doubt you came here just to ask me about my afternoon.”

As much as a fish can nod, this one did.

“I suppose I’m escaping from the mundane and unjust world of corporations to live simply in nature with my wife.”

“Correct, to an extent,” the fish wheezed. “And are you happy?”

“No, not really, and neither is my wife.”

“Ah, yes, well, the woman you married has given up everything to help you live your dream. Her own goal, as you know, was to be an architect. The day you quit your job was the day she was offered her dream job.”

“She got it?” he asked, astounded. “I had just assumed…”

“She wanted to support you, so she turned it down and followed you out of the city. She was glad that you cared enough about anything to make that kind of move.”

“But now she’s bitter,” the man said, wondering.

“Because neither of you are living your dream. You’re not meant for this.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“I am her spirit.” The fish struggled to get the words out.

“So what do I do now?”

“That neither she nor I could tell you. I searched for your spirit… everywhere… but I’m afraid it must have died…long ago.”


“So they say.” The fish spoke so quietly, the man feared for its life and threw it back in the lake.

After a moment it popped it’s head out and said, with more strength, “But it’s up to you to find it.”

It ducked under as though to leave but then resurfaced, pensive.

“Some stories must be read backwards to be truly understood.”



Not Getting Wet

It’s raining but I’m not getting wet.
Is this my first or my last cigarette?
Were I to count back the moments to when we met,
it would be over a hundred, I bet.

One for when, in the lake, we were bare.
Another: the shower we’d sneakily share.
A hard one’s the tears of your pregnancy scare.
And the time when rain settled in your hair.

But now it’s raining and I’m not wet.
I just lit my first cigarette.
You haven’t answered my messages yet,
and you’re with him in a place I can’t get.

Is he the deep pool of calm that I know you seek,
the ticket to waves of appearance so sleek?
Masculinity pours out to cover the weak,
and you awash in compliance, so meek.

It’s raining all day; I can’t get wet.
I swear this fag’s had her last cigarette.
Had it been up to me I’d never have let
you in, and I’d have no regret.

Meet me, M’sippi

Do you meet me, M’sippi, where I am?
Cause’ I’m not one to have visions,
the voices that I hear say nothin grand.
So I wait for the depths of you to flow
just like anointed oil to my mind.

I can’t find ya, M’sippi, in the bend.
But I hope that in your broadness,
you’ll widen out and find me in the end.
And then the things I do will make me whole,
the God I love will be the God that stays.

Just swallow me, M’sippi, flood today.
Before I get a boat, and it’s too late.


First and foremost, like any good anonymous writer, I have a lot of fears. Of failure and rejection, sure. But even more so of success and fame.

I also long to be better, and I think maybe that happens for me when I let go. Since I’m bad at that, Suny can do it for me. She really doesn’t care what people think.

And then, maybe I have some secrets too.