09 March 2012

Making Omelets

Sitting down at the battered companion he called a dining table, fork in hand, slow tears seeped into his vision. He gulped another mouthful of tea and wept in thanks at the savor of the eggs.

Sunlight waned outside in the deepening evening.  The lamp on the table flickered in argentine lambency. He watched the flame dance in conversation with a breeze slinking through the open window.  The omelet disappeared under the insistent bulldozer of his appetite.

Wiping his face on the linen napkin he had carefully placed on the scarred wood, the old man finished the dinner.  His breath scraped over his teeth to fill his lungs.  Holding it, he counted ten slow exhales and grieved over the inescapable violence of needing to live.


  1. some very good one liners monsieur gumbo. the inescapable violence of needing to live.... yes plz

  2. as a side note: do i enjoy reading these literally minutes after you post them? why yes, yes i do

  3. I didn't think it could get better than that opening sentence: "...the battered companion he called a dining table..." but it did.

    You said so much in just a few short paragraphs. And that ending? Break my heart good.

  4. This is part of that book you're going to write, right?


"Let your laws come undone
Don't suffer your crimes
Let the love in your heart take control..."

-'The Hair Song', by Black Mountain

Tell me what is in your heart...