Flying Island

Her Addiction by Mary Sexson Recompense You laid down the needle, and took up your life again, only looking back to count the reasons you had lived. Your boy beside you each day is enough, you said. So we all walk forward a few steps, holding our breath to see if this can last, or will some terrible pull breach the dike and drag you back into the wash? You say you have your own God, one the books don’t talk about, one who is privy to your fears and secrets. But this God doesn’t punish, or hold you down with guilt. And so I, in my faithlessness, call him to me, render my recompense, and barter for my debt. Back Into the Fray One hundred days did not give you the clarity you sought, nor did it remove any obstacles from your path. It merely proved to be a short respite, for all of us, from the relentless grind of your addiction. We laid our heads down, collectively, and slept a dreamless sleep...

Alice, Reinvented by Mary Sexson The buzz of technology chimes           in my sunroom tonight, lines sizzle and connect me across             the continents. India lies open on my desktop, a portal to your           world, and I am Alice, falling through a new-fangled                         looking glass, an open door to your day                    already lived, into your stories and songs                 already slightly warped                            through this odd wrinkle in time. Mary Sexson is the author of 103 in the Light, Selected Poems 1996-2000 (Restoration Press) , nominated for a Best Books of Indiana award in 2005, and co-author of Company of ...

Free Thinker: The Road to India by Mary Sexson You never blinked an eye when you stepped off the plane in that ancient city eight thousand miles from everything you knew. You got in a cab with strangers and let them take you to some dilapidated hotel, overcharge you for a dirty room, and drop you off at the train station the next morning, your wallet a little lighter, but the stink of tourist wiped off of you forever. The train took four days to cross that heave of land, and you to find your way to a quieter place where no one would ever know who you were, and cell phones didn’t work. You walked in on your own two feet, hungry, and looking for the light.   The Continents Between Us by Mary Sexson You have sent me your songs, in zip files that I download late at night, listening intently,  trying to discern your voice, your style of guitar or drum work.   I sometimes scan the online videos    where I know I w...

Winter Dream by Mary Sexson The winter storm effect brings crowds to the stores, lines to stand in, the most coveted items sold out, and we wait, see if our patience holds. Late tonight I want to wake up and make note of the snow, count the flakes and guess their accumulations, I want to gaze out the upstairs window and look down on the literal abundance of it, enough to hold us all in, keep us to our chairs and couches, books opened, movies on, popcorn popped, the interior defined by our presence, our gaze to the fire, we will use words like cozy and snug, we will chuckle softly as we get another blanket from the basket. A Rabbit in Winter by Mary Sexson The rabbit’s tracks go over the top of the snow, all the way across the yard to the fence, where you can see he got out. Caught in this urban sprawl he has learned to deal with barriers. I used to see him every morning, alert in my front yard, assessing the day, wind riffling his fur, he did not...