Growth
From the knotted roots of an elm the tufted head of a rabbit appeared. A dry piece of grass hung between its lips. Turning its head, I got a view of the other side: a bulging eye tumor, pink and veiny. The rabbit chewed, tumor throbbing with each clench of the jaw. Across the yard the neighbor’s dog stepped on fallen leaves. The rabbit paused, turned its ear, and waited.
No. 201
A Ride
Through a water-stained bus window I saw the oncoming car approach. A sedan, bright blue LED lights shining into my eyes, raced toward the bus, stopped perpendicular in the road. We waited for traffic to move out of the way, and still the sedan didn’t notice. The bus driver, hoarse voice unable to call out to us, kept going.
No. 200
Race
The teen’s dirt bike kicked up gravel from the asphalt. “25,” he said, then looked down the street. “No one around. Go, go, go.”
The sound of feet smashing pedals and gears whirring, then a second kid skirted around the bend and came to a stop with a crunch of the dirt, leaving long brake marks behind him. “Dammit,” the second said. “26.”
No. 199
Thrown Away
A pile of white paper towels hung from the edge of the garbage can. I threw mine in, and the pile rearranged. Falling over themselves revealed a paper dotted in red drops of blood. Droplet, droplet, blood clot, and a rag colored maroon.
No. 198
Wrecked
The ambulance parked diagonal to the sidewalk, blocking view of the wreckage. Orange cones, the kind used in kids’ sports, angled out in the approaching lane, encouraging cars to merge over. Passing by: two sedans, a broken window, deflated airbag hanging loose from the wheel. Doors flung open. A girl on the sidewalk cried into a sweater.
No. 197
Watching
Focusing—dog asleep at the feet, instrumental music, an autumnal candle. Work that flows like a peaceful river. Corner of the eye a flash of movement: the window at street level, a pair of shoes. Shadow of a figure falls along the sidewalk. I stand for a view; they shuffle away.
No. 196
Break
She held the pink parasol in her hand. It provided enough shade to cool her a degree or two beneath the El Niño sun. A heat so strong her mind couldn’t wander; the moment forced itself to be felt. Across the street, the city worked to repair the roads before the next global sporting event. Construction men in hi-vis vests, shirts darkened with sweat, sat atop the roots of a pale tree. She watched as they drank water; they watched as she angled the umbrella to block their view.
No. 195
Construction
Twirling on her tensile string a bulging spider from a telephone wire descends. She approaches a growing hedgerow, nearer now, a refuge. Between the two she’ll construct her monument, her weapon. Settled in the shadows of the bush, she’ll wait and watch, for the eggs to hatch and the meal to devour.
No. 193
Cooling Off
The dental hygienist moved an oscillating fan into the doorway. “Let me know if you get too hot.” The heat waves made ovens of valley offices.
She raised the dental chair up, and lowered the seat back. I turned upside down. As she moved the hand scaler into my mouth, a gust of wind caught the dental bib at the wrong angle, and it lifted up to cover my face.
No. 191
“Future Home of Desi Arnaz”
Silver trays lay empty in the lit display case. A worker from the back taped a handwritten paper on it: “11am”. Poster frames on the wall hung empty. The cashier complained that she was still learning the system. After 45 minutes, a sandwich never arrived.
No. 190
Filling
Returning home at the end of the day, I discovered a pothole on my street had been filled. Where normally I would bump and shake, and take care to go slowly, I felt a slight rise, then a smooth glide over the road. This did not register at first—and upon walking back through the dark patches of fresh asphalt, laid bare in the autumn twilight, grabbed my attention.
No. 189
Under Cover
Brown smoke billowed on the horizon. It seemed to be a few blocks away. The cloud grew and covered the sun, which glowed as an orange orb, casting ghastly shadows against the concrete.
No. 186
Review
The air conditioner sputtered to a quiet. Water dripped into a puddle on the sidewalk. The motor in the refrigerator hummed with a dull monotony. The rev of a motorcycle came to a roar, then dissipated slowly. The chain around a dog’s neck clattered as its owner walked past the window. A housefinch began to call from a tree branch.
“If everybody finished reviewing the doc, we can begin.”
No. 185
Argument
A man my age holding a box arrived at the post office earlier than I had. Waiting in my car, I watched as he paced in front of the automatic doors. At nine, we went in. Behind him in line, I witnessed his attempts to convince the clerk to lower the overnight shipping price (“has to arrive tomorrow”), and my mind wandered, forgetting why I needed to be there so early.
No. 184
Waiting
Yellowed magazines covered the coffee table. Rogue red carpet ran from the entrance to to the back offices. Across from him sat the receptionist behind a desk—a man in his late-30s, arms busting out of his sleeves. He tapped his foot against the carpet, making no noise. The plastic chair beneath him shook. The door opened and an electronic doorbell sounded. The receptionist did not move. From behind the door to the back, he could hear footsteps approaching.
No. 183
Mud
Neighbor left a sprinkler on in the drought. Oscillating the water cascaded in rippling arcs. Dry soil, desert soil, unaccustomed to water it collected in the grass and did not soak down. The dry roots of a nearby tree reached outward for sustenance. Up the block, a leashed dog eyed the mud ravenously.
No. 182