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A Brief Flash Hits Me

A BRIEF FLASH HITS ME 

Something happens when, 
for a fleeting moment, 
I try to imagine what being someone else is like. 

I see their face in a photograph, 
their smile at the camera, 
the clothes they chose to wear, and a brief flash hits me. 
Except, it's not a light. 

It usually feels like a soft, cool wind. 

When I take this feeling out of context, and remember it in isolation, 
I am reminded of my childhood. 
Of perfectly warm days in Southern California touring model homes 
and huge leveled land where tract-housing neighborhoods were under construction. 

But now, with the wind, I see glimpses of the other person,
I feel their inner aesthetic. I guess at their fears, wants, and shortcomings. 
And, what's more, a new image appears in my head. 
This time of a location I've been to. 
In empathizing with one person, I am transported somewhere new. 

It's a strange sort of synesthesia --
The emotional with the geographical. 
But it is always true. 
The wind I feel from my
moment inside someone
is the same feeling I have when I remember
a specific street corner in Paris
or a dirt road in Kerala.

I may not know you any better,
And I most probably am not right,
but my fear of you,
my apprehension of the stranger, has been removed.

And now I am curious.
Curious to know who you are.
Curious what street corners I haven't seen.

Copyright 2014 Oren Peleg 

5th Floor Walk-Up

I moved in, so I should be the one to move out

she said.

She wiped her cheeks with her hand.

If this is what you want.

He didn’t argue.

He just sat in the living room with her,

checking his watch on occasion to get the timing right.

I can already smell the pie

he said.

She nodded, looking down at the arm of her chair.

When do you think you’ll leave

he asked.

Jessie said I could stay with her until I figure out what to do. 

You already talked to her about this?

Just a few hours ago.

He checked his watch again. He figured the pie would be finished soon.

So, I’ll probably sleep there tonight, then come back tomorrow for my things

she continued.

You’ll at least stay for the pie

he asked.

Sure.

She tried to smile.

Where did you learn this recipe, anyway

she asked.

No recipe. Each pie is different, really.

he said and got up.

Do you smell that

he continued.

She sniffed the air.

Does smell a little burnt.

Shouldn’t be. We gave it the right amount of time.

What’s the right amount? I thought you said each one was different

she asked.

Some basics stay the same. All pies need to be baked, and it’ll start to smell a certain way usually around the same time. That’s how you can tell

he continued.

Tell what

she asked.

They were standing in front of the oven.

If it’s right or not.

She looked away from him for a moment.

You’re not going to ask me to stay?

No.

So you want me to leave?

I didn’t say that.

Then talk to me. All you seem to care about is this fucking pie.

He didn’t look at her.

He opened the oven door and pulled out the pie and baking sheet

and let them rest on the stovetop.

It’s burnt

he said.

Why didn’t you follow a recipe?

Did we put everything in

he asked himself.

Clearly not. You forgot something.

We forgot something.

She crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter.

I used the unsalted butter like you asked.

That really doesn’t matter, now

he said.

And I put the almond meal in when you asked

she said.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose

then put them back on and threw the pie into the trash.

Just like that

she asked.

We messed up. What do you want me to do

he said.

Well, can’t we just break off the burnt parts?

Sometimes you can catch it before it’s ruined, but once it is, that’s it

he said and left the room.  

Let me guess, ‘timing is everything’

she said, playing his voice.

He didn’t argue.  

Copyright Oren Peleg 2013

Black Squirrel

Black Squirrel

There was a large pine I would walk past

Everyday

Near City Hall.

A black squirrel lived on that tree.

Storing nuts all spring and summer.

Running across the lawn.

Sleeping in branches.

I found him one morning dead in the street.

Burst open.

No expression on his face.

I’m sure those nuts are still hidden away in that tree. 

DUST SETTLES AFTER THE SKIN HAS FALLEN AWAY

DUST SETTLES AFTER THE SKIN HAS FALLEN AWAY

The load bears witness to the growth.

Heavier now than before.

The weight more solid, too.

I guess that’s what it means

to mature

to love

to be hurt.

Age adds a lot to your face,

Except hair.

You hope one day

That everything you built

(Started to build)

That every piece comes together.

Time feels wasted looking back,

But you haven’t learned the lesson

Looking forward.

Sometimes there is no Lesson,

Just an exhaustion from experience

Repeating. 

Copyright Oren Peleg 2012

We're Getting Older

We're Getting Older 

A faded image: a couple falls onto the crisp white sheets of a bed in each others’ arms.

A morning shower.

The breakfast table. The morning paper. A piece of toast and black currant jam.

She enters. Late for work. A black pencil skirt and white blouse. Her leather satchel in one hand. She empties the coffee press into her thermos.

You get up to kiss her.

“Morning, babe.”

“Morning.”

She takes what remains of your toast off the plate.

“I’ve gotta run.”

“Bye.”

The door slams shut.

“It’s always me doing nothing. Staying home and pretending that’s all it takes to be a successful creative," you think.  

"I don’t work hard enough. I need more concrete goals to push me along,” you think.

You finish a bowl of cereal and the paper.

“More dead in Syria” crosses your mind.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2012 

This Is My Favorite Room

This Is My Favorite Room

She was right.

Maybe not about everything

But about this.

I thought you were a missing piece

But you’re disappointing like the rest.

Each with his own basket of flaws

To sort through.

W.A. said it best,

Everyone will disappoint.

The light changed with this,

Your reflection a bit bluer.

So now I’m down to the final piece:

Me.

I see me reflected in you.

I see me a bit clearer for it.

It was over a drink that I understood,

I only think about myself.

I wanted to ask you if it was true,

But you were talking,

and I laughed at the irony of it.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2012 

One. Then Stop.

ONE. THEN STOP. 

You changed lanes too many times.

Trivial to some,

Unbearable to me.

I kept shouting at you in my head,

But waited to release a feeble demand

Later.

We got home but I never relaxed.

You played music entirely too loud,

Annoyed by the sounds of others.

Like a child throwing a tantrum while drowning.

How I cannot wait to leave here.

Even if that means leaving alone. 

Copyright Oren Peleg 2012

The All-Consuming Love Affair

The All-Consuming Love Affair

The all-seeing

All-consuming

Love affair.

Step right up to see the wonder of the

Disappearing Man

He couldn’t leave his demons behind

He couldn’t leave Her

And so

They ate him

He tried to run

But they hung on,

Barnacles to a pier,

Taking bite after bite

And as he shrank

He realized that they weren’t eating him

But his demons.

So, he cut them off.

Knowing that he’d grow back

Stronger

Healthier

Without.

And he could finally stop running.

Copyright Oren Peleg 2012