Jason Bergsieker

Archive for May, 2011|Monthly archive page

May

In Poetry/Prose on May 21, 2011 at 12:28 PM

Twenty-foot branches
soft with pink blossoms
Like a kiss on the cheek in the morning
while I pretend to be asleep

Masquerade

In Essay, Fiction on May 15, 2011 at 8:02 PM

An elementary school art room smells like mud. Fidgeting first graders wear hand-me-down clothes protected by paint spattered aprons. They make faces at each other. They trace invisible shapes on thick wooden tables with their pudgy index fingers. They flick crumbs of dried clay onto the dusty concrete floor and whisper about the new project as their teacher marks the final accent on a partially recognizable word. White letters on a green chalkboard. Papier-mâché. A smiling twenty-something with bright eyes, her exuberance for the children is matched only by her love for expression. Everyday is a new chance for exploration. She can see the possibility in each of them. Read the rest of this entry »

In the Morning

In Poetry/Prose on May 13, 2011 at 12:15 PM

Sleeping alone in the kitchen
White porcelain skin
Glassy in the the breaking light

Cold against my fingertips
She moans and shivers awake
I warm her from the inside out
With my lips to hers
She returns the favor

We sit silently
Listening to the sparrows and the mist
And she empties herself for me
Just so I can fill her up again

How I die, part 1

In Fiction on May 12, 2011 at 5:38 PM

With rolled up sleeves and the taste of coffee still on my tongue, I stand between rows of parked cars and meters with a handful of quarters, my eyes fixed on the black peppercorn floating high above me in the cloudless blue sky. My breath steams into the air and I shiver as a puff of charcoal smoke jets out from the helicopter. It shudders and spins out of control. My feet root themselves to the ground as the obsidian capsule jolts across the royal canvas leaving a trail of soot behind it. Read the rest of this entry »

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