Frostwriting

Metamorphic

by Angie Curneal Palsak

Luster

  With my landlady’s permission, I repainted my little apartment.  All the walls were dull white.  I chose canary yellow for the living room.  The glossy paint made my walls shine.  When I came home from work one day, he had placed duct tape on one sulfur wall.  Two slashes and a big curve; a smiley face.

Hardness

  As I approach my tables, I pretend I am a tiger.  The rich women don’t see a tiger, they see a block of concrete carrying a tray of gourmet food.  I don’t like these women.  Or their designer purses.  I imagine biting their heads off. Pearl earrings and all. 

Fracture

  Necks break in car accidents.  He was on his way over.  I had dinner ready.  Lasagna. Salad with lots of olives.  Breadsticks and wine.  His mom called me as she was driving to the hospital.  I was too late.

Color

  The garden was full.  Polluted.  Women in hats:  purple, yellow, pink.  They bloomed everywhere.  I was on break.  I hid by the tenth tee, sipping on some coffee. 
  He was crossing over the cart path, looking at the ground.  I picked up the white ball and handed it to him.
  “That’s a penalty,” he said, lifting his baseball cap up from his forehead.  Brown eyes, warm.
  “What’s a penalty?” I asked.
  “It’s against the rules to touch the ball during play.”  He looked back at his partners who were too busy drinking beer to miss him.
  “So, I didn’t touch it,” I dropped the ball and went back to sipping my coffee.

Cleavage

  I feel like cracking myself with a hammer.  Smashing my body into smaller versions of myself.  In pieces.  Equal portions, side by side, spread on the flat sheets of my bed.  Each fragment will sprout a head and tail.  I will keep myself company.
But without him I am like dough.  The hammer sinks into my skin and I feel nothing.

Density

  “I’ll drown!”  I scream.
  “No, you won’t!  Now stop squirming!”  His brown eyes squint in the sun.  “This is for your own good!”  He drops me into the pool.
  I sink down to the bottom.  I open my eyes.  I have never been underwater before.  Everything is quiet.  Hollow.  My hair floats around my shoulders.  I look up, see his legs slowly kicking.
  I scrunch myself into a spring, shoot up towards the surface, just as he taught me to do.
  “Hello there,” he smiles.
  “Hello there,” I answer as I inhale heavily.  I wrap my legs around his waist.  He navigates us in circles as we kiss.