Tag Archives: Grant Chemidlin

Revisiting the Closet

No, the crypt, I call it. Dank & cavernous, so huge, to try to touch the outer wall would be to walk a thousand years & never reach it. The cracked bones of all those who didn’t make it line … Continue reading

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Another Kind of Commute

When I have lost my way in the day’s anxious maze, I stop, lie down on the crowd of grass & wait for silence, for thousands of little green hands to lift me up. The blue sky fades. Graceful blade … Continue reading

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Meditation When Morale Is Low

The curtains refuse to open. The ceiling fan spins itself sick, vomits on the carpet. The couch is on drugs again. A black fog fills the hall & instead of running, I walk into it, deprive my eyes until I … Continue reading

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The Origins of Hope

While I sleep soundly on my side, a family of yellow sac spiders comes crawling through the night to gather            in a line beside my ear. One by one, they each toss a tiny crumb down into the dark abyss of … Continue reading

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Before I Knew I Was Gay, I Was Told I Was Catholic

I came to this stuffy, overly-woody room for one reason & one reason only:             Sunday candy, the sweet & sour coke bottle gummies             & a cherry slurpee to soothe my eight-year-old throat. The convenience store is on the way home. … Continue reading

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The Struggling Poet Interviews for a Desk Job

I am proficient in trees, not identifying their names, but deepest needs, a fish scale’s glimmer, soft paws, toe beans, the tiny, invisible heartbeats of mice, their cries. I’ve never been in a fistfight, but that’s a lie. I’ve done … Continue reading

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Balding

The young man pulls the strands of hair from the shower drain, lays them out straight & orderly, like a pack of cigarettes. He counts the bodies, lights ten candles in the tiny, rock grotto he built inside the medicine … Continue reading

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I Need You to Know I Regret This One the Most

Could you tell me, if I asked, the worst thing you’ve ever said or ever done? I am ashamed to say that on the great, wide map of my life, I can pinpoint the exact place, the exact time, the … Continue reading

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The Tiny Funeral

When I wake to a sharp pain in the middle of the night, I find the room has flooded with moon, the fraying quilt has gotten up & crawled away to sleep alone on the floor. Shirtless & lying in … Continue reading

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To Fall Asleep

The boy was not a boy but a sheep                         in wolf’s clothing, too afraid to show the soft & fluffy edges of his fleece. He thought in claws,                         sharpened teeth, taught himself to only speak with gruff & gravel, to … Continue reading

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