The snake wants to become a dragon. The woman wants to become an angel. Noise wants to become silence. Silence is so accurate, said Rothko.
A Korean toddler sleeps standing on the foot pegs of her adoptive father’s wheelchair. He is a quadriplegic.
Another young girl stands on the floor of a Rembrandt sea. Pale blue morays dance around her.
They want her to become the new Medusa. They want to be her curls.
The quadriplegic sits in his chair. I sit on the floor, my back propped against the wall. We drink straight vodka on ice. He sighs with contentment. His Airedale, the smelliest dog in the world, puts his head in my lap. He loves me. I can’t chase him away, as much as I want to.
Medusa Girl: her long kelp-colored hair flows in the brown current. She has Global Transient Amnesia, but cannot be said to suffer from it.
With enough vodka I think I’m insightful. An Airedale is like an Airstream, I say.
A school of fish swims past Medusa Girl. My Australian Shepherd presses forward. He would like to herd the fish, but he lives in a furry, non-aqueous world and cannot make the transition.
The quadriplegic’s daughter leans against his legs and lightly snores. She’s only two, but already often wears a cat-ate-the-canary smile. She awakes, steps off the pegs, turns to face me and her dog.
What wisdom are you hiding, I ask.
She giggles and runs away.
Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois has had over a thousand of his poems and fictions appear in literary magazines in the U.S. and abroad. He has been nominated for numerous prizes. His novel, Two-Headed Dog, based on his work as a clinical psychologist in a state hospital, is available for Kindle and Nook, or as a print edition. To see more of his work, google Mitchell Krockmalnik Grabois. He lives in Denver.