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| Ken Cheung |
Flashes of Life
Thanking Luci
Luci worked at Panera for two weeks. She’d wake up at 3:00 a.m. to arrive at the bakery by 5:30. Dancing between wheeling pastry and bagel racks to ovens or displays and cleaning tables for the first morning customers. From 6:00 until noon, she ran the cash register between the caffeinery specials and the pecan braids. Luci cultivated smiles tailored for the needs of all her customers. A chuckle for the nurse in a hurry. A laugh of hilarity for the handsome man who resembles Tom Holland. A cheerful grin that was just right for me.
My Home Is Where My Tipi Sits After the Apsáalooke (Crow) multimedia artist, Wendy Red Star
We eat our last gratitude in the shadow of turkey balloons and skeletons. Wonder white bread sandwiching government cheese and bologna. Oatmeal cream pie desserts. Our grandfathers kept herds of ninety horses so the big sky might bless our tipis. Our ancestors rode brown-and-white paints through a history of blankets. They wore high-crown Western hats while staring toward the East. Now churches rise above junk cars with cockeyed crucifixes taped across passenger windows. Our children buy tents at Walmart. Or worship in immaculate shrines, while grandmothers grow old behind cardboard walls. We live upon the Earth our tipis sit upon.
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| Michael Brockley |
Michael Brockley is a retired school psychologist who lives in Muncie, Indiana. His prose poems have appeared in The Prose Poem, Doublespeak Mag, and Keeping the Flame Alive. In addition, Brockley's prose poems are forthcoming in Bay to Ocean Journal, Unlikely Stories Mark VI, and Stormwash: Environmental Poems, Volume II.
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