Cat’s beacons, those spheres, green portals in a room unlit
No doubt illuminate some feline truth, terribly toothsome,
Half-closed, her claws retract and extend in a kneading gesture.
Even a huntress longs for the distant memory of mother’s milk.

A gentle blush and the perfume of petals
Spring in winter, that’s how the air smelled,
delicately fragrant and peach-pink, her sandpaper tongue
with a mew scrapes my outstretched palm.

“Child,” she sighs, her voice a multitudinous chorous,
her every breath a somber chorale, “do you see the pattern?”
With a flick of her tail the fractals unravel into pupils dilated
when the girl-child gazes into the void- it gazes back.

Girl-child drinks deep of the draught-
this must be the fabled milk of human kindness.
Each sip is sweet and musky,
tinged with multifaceted emotion.

Round like the om, her open mouth grateful
for the dewdrop ambrosia of sacred geometry
The cross-section of Sierpinski’s triangle
Culled from cut blossoms and tree-fruits

Learning has two stages- watching and imitation.
Deja vu, my manager says. I dreamed you here before
in my plural mind we’re magnified fifty-five times
Octopedal, tentacles straddling the world. Bulbs burst

soul fractions captured in light. Couldn’t chant- later
we examined the footage, fast-forwarded and freeze-framed
There you were, with your wavy hair and clear blue glare
in the center of the foreground with your hawk eyed stare.

After twenty three years of swallowing her tongue, playing the dowdy sidekick to boy-crazy serial monogamists, dykes that oozed charm and drunkorexic party girls, to name a few, she was about ready to implode. Jane was sick with repressed lust. Save for a few friends with benefits moments in college, her lesbian love life was sorely lacking.

Men, on the other hand, threw themselves at her. Particularly men of the tabletop RPG enthusiast, sweaty, kink-prone man-child variety. You know the type- they seem like sweet, lovable nerds until you realize they just need a live in sex slave and nursemaid.

“What I’m trying to say is, I’m sick of men.” She swigged her beer and let out a conclusive belch. The yuppie women behind them turned and glared their disapproval. “You know what I mean, right?”

Anne adopted her signature shit-eating grin. “I don’t think that’s really that common of a type. I mean, Greg was the only dude I’ve met who really fit that description. But I will admit you do attract the worst possible dudes. It’s like a superpower or something. You really can pick ‘em.”

“Worst superpower ever,” muttered Jane.
I could think of a few better ones. The power to turn straight girls. Insane dyke animal magnetism.
“Wish I had gaydar, but for shitty dudes. Douchedar!”

This made Anne erupt into giggles, in turn causing her to snort a mouthful of water onto her blouse. The yuppies rolled their eyes and returned to their salads.

“Nice one,” she said, sacrificing her napkin to dry her blouse. Jane couldn’t help but notice the outline of her bra and the way the sheer fabric clung to her breasts. She felt a twinge of guilt and arousal, which she resolved with a joke. “If I’d known we were having a wet t-shirt contest, I would have worn something more risque.”

“Shut up. You know I hate it when you make me laugh while I’m drinking. Bitch.” She turned to flag down the waiter, who, mercifully, seemed to overlook her as he made a beeline for the kitchen. It was almost as if he knew that Jane needed to buy a little more time. She downed the remainder of her beer and plotted her next sentence. With some luck she’d make it through the hard part of tonight without a night of excessive coaxing and drinking, as was usually necessary to extract information from Jane once she’d built up a mental blockade.

“Anne…” she began, aiming for eye contact and missing by a nose, settling somewhere around her lips… she froze.

The haggard waiter appeared with the check, buying Jane a few more moments as Anne dug in her purse for the credit card. Those moments were spent gazing instead of thinking. Oh, Anne… slender, willowy Anne, with her sprinkle of freckles, wavy auburn hair that cascaded over her shoulders…

“What’s up?”

Here it comes. Here comes the moment where I tell her, and it turns weird, and we can’t be friends any more. Easy, Jane- do the easy part first. Don’t fuck things up this time.
“It’s nothing,” she sighed, suddenly very interested in the cold straggler fries remaining on her plate.
Anne refused to take the bait. This was patented Jane irritating coyness. They ignored each other for a moment until the waiter returned to whisk the plate away, removing her last distraction.

As Anne signed the check, Jane went into panic mode. She scoured her brain for an easy way out, some way to break it to her gently, then reveal what she was proposing.

“Do you remember your first day at the Cafe? How George bitched at you for dropping that breakfast burrito?”

“He said I’d never make it around here if I wasn’t willing to grab hot food with my bare hands.” Her eyes crinkled in a dreamy half-smile. “Then I got transferred to the front of house.”

Jane zipped up her coat. She watched Anne raid the chalky pastel mints at the counter, stashing them in a Ziploc snack bag in her purse, then pulled some quarters from her coat pocket to raid the gumball machine. She laughed softly to herself as she left to wait for Anne in the parking lot.

The sun had mostly set, though it was only 6:30, and chilly enough to see her breath. Light pollution kept the stars at bay. It had been that way as long as she’d known- the persistent red glow at the edge of the horizon. Soon she’d be living in a temperate rainforest, which she imagined was a lot like a fairy tale. At any rate, it was certainly less banal than the suburbs she’d lived in most her life. Though she hadn’t been there yet, she could almost see the massive trunks of the moss-robed evergreens and taste the misty air.

“I think I know what you wanted to tell me,” said Anne. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“How did you know?”

“Charles told me. Apparently Alex, his roommate, is going to replace you. He’s coming back.”

“They’re letting him come back?! No way!” Alex had been fired before for smoking weed in the walk-in fridge while he was supposed to be the manager on duty. It wouldn’t have been different from any other day if George, the owner, hadn’t decided to pop back into the store to retrieve some special steaks he’d been saving for dinner and walked in on them toking up.

“Yeah, they’re hiring him to work in the kitchen. Basically to replace you. It’s a demotion, but hey, it’s a job.”

“When did you find out?”

“Last night,” she said, unlocking the Jeep by remote. Jane clambered into the passenger seat and shut the door. Her heart was racing and her face was on fire. So much for the easy part. Anne had known the whole night and didn’t say anything. Now or never.

“Don’t worry! We will still hang out all the time.”

“No, we won’t, because I’m moving to Washington state and I don’t know when I’ll see you again.”

“Oh. That sucks.” She paused, keys in the ignition, a vacant look on her face. “That really sucks. This is all happening so fast.”

“Yeah… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. You know I suck at stuff like that.”

Anne started up the car.

In two days she was boarding flight 752 with one way service to Seatac with a suitcase, a backpack and a guitar. In two days she was moving across the country to go to school, where she knew almost no one save for a sweet, but unemployed, sensitive musician dude. He’s sweet and all, but he is no Anne.

“I know what else you wanted to ask me.”

Oh God. “What makes you think I had something to ask you?”

There was that shit-eating grin again. “I know we haven’t know each other that long, but I think I’m pretty good at reading you. Not to sound full of myself,” she said, “but you’re also not the first girl that’s been into me.”

Blood was roaring in Jane’s ears and she was sure her face looked like a baboon’s ass. Words failed her.

“It’s okay. It’s the twenty first century, girls can be into girls. I don’t think it’s natural to be strictly hetero.”

If I had a dick, it would be so hard right now. Ugh! That was crude. “I’m really glad you can’t read my thoughts,” Jane muttered. Here it comes. These encounters always ended in shame and rejection. What was it about her that was just not attractive to women? Perhaps her inner bro was a tabletop RPG enthusiast, sweaty, kink-prone man-child? That would explain why she was plagued by pathetic dude magnetism. Maybe they can smell it on me.

“I wish I could.” Anne’s voice brought reality crashing down. “Do you want to come by my place for a few drinks?” Thank God reality seemed so hollow and plastic.

“Sure.”

“You can stay the night if you’d like.”

Surely her ears were going to melt off her head. Steam was already shooting from her ears. No one ever gave her the decency of a mercy fuck, a goodbye present. Just a terse hug and a promise of reunion.
Jane never was one for proper goodbyes.

Staked, then, on a bed of straw,
Tail in tongue, a smoke-serpent ring rising.
Legend has it,
On that day,
not a single fuck was given.

The brushfire eliminates the scrub-
Hence the saying: so it goes. Amen.

Says he’s smothered by your hips
un-childbirth-worthy
yet he wallows in them,
having absorbed much marsh
waiting for your eventual mothering.
He flollops,
flinging up bits of swamp.

Still fattened,
often I wake sweaty,
dreaming of Squornshellous Zeta
on a mattress I’m sure is named Zem.

Unable to adjust to the retrofitted font,
one falters at the digital precipice

the Info-Ocean’s interface, the wet woodwork rot,
barnacled and battered
by sea-spray and the smell of the Sound.

Uh oh.

How will you sleep there?
In the soft corner, nest of noise,
symmetrical bed of months.
What’s the quickest way to kill a year?
Spend it all here.
You’ve been upgraded to Platinum Rewards Level.
Your call may be monitored for quality assurance
We’ll be ever so demure, all,
“Here’s your balance, sir,
Thank you and have a nice day.”