PARIS GRAMANN
A juicy fire coats the inside of my eyelids, replacing the darkness with ripe strawberries and sunflowers. My eyelashes block my view once, then twice. Ahh. What a lucky soul the world has. And how lucky of us to be able to share in it… A beautiful, bright light shines through the clear walls, charging our possessions … making them glow. Our pillows, burnt orange and thick, blood red, cradle my awakening mind. My breath goes long and I inhale pine cones and sweet, black gardenia. I turn to face my best decision yet: you. Your eyes, pasted shut with the exhaustion of a working man, twitter like my heart as I wait for you to rise. Your eyebrows, thick and sturdy, roll in and up as you dream of secrets and saviors. I look past my dreaming slumberer and watch a bird fly to her nest, nourishing her little ones, presenting them with the love that I have been storing up for my own. Reaching down to my belly I imagine a kick - a jolt of life - something waiting to take my place in this chaotic beauty. I want to give it the world. I want it to be able to love and help. I want it to save. I want it to be more than I could ever be. It could be … and my slumberer awakes, kissing my cheek, a smile stretching underneath his twinkling eyes. I run my fingers through his hair and he kisses my collarbone. Then my chest. Then my belly. He turns his body sideways and lays his head on my stomach, kissing our unborn conqueror over a hundred times.
Published in 2016, 50th Edition of Drexel's Maya Literary Magazine