Tag Archive: stories


Midweek, one ordinary early evening, I watched people shuffling across the street moments after being set-free from their train ride home, from a busy city where they work doing a range of things: technical, in law, banking, construction, in art and fashion…

 

In a time we are all uncertain

 

In high-up places, and downtown, they buzz through the streets in cabs, by foot, on schedule—the clock ticking dollar bills. Between the hours of twelve and two some break for lunch, and sit with a sandwich or fruit by a fountain, enjoy daydreams until once again they return home to our seaside town.

 

The aroma of plum tomato and garlic calls to them from the local pizzeria, as they hurriedly make the green light, cross the street to meet their cars patiently waiting at meters (calculating quarters for the hours they’ve been gone). Others walk home or get a ride. A cabdriver anxiously calls-out to make a living.

 

The streets intertwine like stories and ghosts that we hear on a subconscious level, of years past and days ahead that hold us willingly captive, in love with this city—our home.

 

This particular evening the sky could not decide whether to storm or let the sun shine for its final hours before setting, and it cast-off a mystical greyish-pink hue. Photographers and artists would surely gather on the boardwalk to capture a pre-dusk—hope not to be forgotten—before evening’s ominous newscast.

 

Salt was heavy in the air from a rough surf, and the light-fog swayed like a slow dance, romancing.

 

I turned right at the corner and slowly drove toward the ocean, peace in her waves, on my mind.

 

As an extra-sensory being absorbs everything going on around them like their own movement—I notice most people are asleep or too busy inside themselves to notice the energy around them—until I see Diana.

 

Diana owns a lady’s handbag and accessory store with her mother, a seamstress and bag designer, on the main strip. The boutique is filled with more than fashion trends for her clients, but rather creative details that if you listen tell a story.

 

Pocketbooks upon the shelves, leather and embroidery, fall and summer necessities, earrings in a case of glass with silver trim. —A mirror with a delicate woman’s image.

 

She’ll greet you each time with a beautiful smile and in it you can see her dreams.

 

She didn’t notice me as I recognized her walking—a poem unfolding on a page.

 

I was glad not to interrupt the momentum of her stride. It struck me as being accompanied by song. Indeed flowing as opposed to walking. Her gaze was faraway and reminiscent of youthful innocence. A breeze gently influenced her auburn hair.

 

I watched intently as it seemed she was unaffected by the ordinary surrounding her—traffic, a bicyclist carrying a food delivery, but was captured with the extraordinary—a seagull with dinner in its beak about to land on the edge of a broken fence, as if it were Heaven.

 

I felt less lonely seeing a kindred soul watching, as I do, the world around us.

 

It became understood that not everyone on a Wednesday could be a butterfly or a ballad. Some must be a traffic light or a steal gate. Some are meant to be foundation, solid to land upon, while others fill the air with wonder; and there are those that are meant to notice and call attention to each.

 

In light and in darkness, in times of woe or of joy, confidence or uncertainty – we are all individual movement, our own beat, each a separate story none less important, different by cultures, and yet the same by design.

 

This is our home by the sea, among many different homes under the sky, where people travel to and fro, seeing and experiencing life around them—a rose about to bud—or a shattered piece of glass in mourning.

 

Tomorrow will be another story—each soul a particle in defining its entirety—like sand and a city by the sea.

 

Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

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WITHIN—

 

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Rest assured wherever there is chaos the devil has been.

 

She walked away from her life just like that. Indifferent. Wisdom comes suddenly. After all of the energy spent in thought, worrying, debating, doubting…she came to understand perfectly that fear is merely a trick set to keep you from living your life, away from your faith, empowerment, and the clarity it takes to ultimately have everything you indeed need.

 

She took the burden-off like daylight slips into a setting sun, and discarded it as, yesterday...

 

I’ve learned from that son of a bitch the devil. He’s been there like a close companion, listening carefully, feeling the pain, slapping me on the back with support and laughter, encouraging my will… A real wrenched-neck-motherfucker, you know? All of it only to learn what and how he could defeat me. He’s had his way with me. I’ve gone weak in his presence and given him the pleasure.

 

When the devil is playing a powerful hand in your life, like a hot buttered biscuit in a cold winter’s empty gut, or a vodka tonic to the tune of your emotional sorrow; to fold and give into indulgence is merely momentary satisfaction, side-by-side failure. It fills a need for want…Tricky bastard! To taste the bliss of decadence on your tongue, the sweet heaven it may be, is illusion. To fulfill wanton lust in a ten second climax, or close your eyes to rest from running-up-hill, because it seems too daunting, is merely the pretense of a feel good moment, selling yourself short, the weakness that ultimately ravages you and your life.

 

It’s a simple but brilliant game we play, he and I, self-satisfying sabotage, feeding that bastard what it craves, and it’s all in your head: your failure, and your fulfillment. You ask yourself what is stopping you, or your life from being all that you want. Insist someone has stolen your success, and patented it as theirs. Blame it on bad luck, and/or a bunch of pricks you wish you’d never known.

 

Even if it seems you get what you want in the moment by giving-in, and abstaining by all means feels like hell; it’s hell that you need, if you don’t want to want any longer!

 

Here and now is the only moment to corrupt everything, or not. Evil and hope’s only chance. Only hope is weak. Yes, both will place you in the shackles of fear and pain, to keep the truth from you. You’ll beg and willingly grasp at straws. You’ll think you’re right when you’re wrong. You’ll be afraid to fail when rather you would succeed. You’ll believe everything is going to be okay when it won’t be. All the while, that shit-eating grin cast over your world like a painful sore, compelling you to pick-it until it bleeds in need of a protective scab.

 

An epiphany dawns: It lives inside of you, the ultimate control to feed or destroy it, to empower it, or yourself. It’s that simple. The love each part has for the other, side by side the same, for what you give and take away from each, is a balance that keeps you feeling safe.

 

I found his weakness: The fear I’d get to – know her for who he is… and I did! I turned him upside down, put his shattered bones in a steel pink box, away from my heart, at the soul of my feet. Scared shitless he pissed him self when I took my first steps. Suddenly he was old and decrepit. His grin not so pretty, or persuasive, as he pulled his singed tail between his legs, and howled in a revolting way.

 

She smiled a devilish grin in satisfaction, and thereby was reminded: I am all of these things within, good or bad, and I decide whether to self-destruct or thrive.

 

“You are your problem, and you are your solution.”

 

The cold turned into light, and through it eyes of awareness saw certain warmth. Content, she could finally rest at peace her struggling heart.

 

—Maria Pisciotta-DellaPorte ©2017 All Rights Reserved

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