Bio Note: A Washington based author, poet, and educator, my poems and stories have appeared in many international literary magazines, journals and anthologies such as the Eunioa Review, Verse-Virtual, and Anti-Heroin Chic. My most recent poetry/fiction collections include Serpent’s Tooth: Poems, Masques: Flash Fiction & Short Stories, and Flytraps (2022). Currently, I enjoy writing, turning wood, participating in “virtual” poetry readings, and fishing along the Hood Canal.
DC Comics Rule
People stuffed the Tully Road Junkyard— a pauper’s paradise where gulls held court over landfill—with old spice racks, broken tables, plastic coo-coo clocks, styrofoam plates, wicker chairs, and basement bargain sales items nobody wanted; the stench of rotten trash chemicals, and pigeon shit piggybacked on wind gusts then hung in the air a mile down the road, but what the nose could not abide, my eyes found glorious. An old cardboard box reeking of gasoline leaned against bald tires, yet beyond the pungent odor lay two-hundred DC comic books from Detective to Batman, Action to Superman, Wonder Woman to Flash and the Green Lantern—tossed away without ceremony, collecting mildew languishing in the sunlight—close to igniting from ultra-violet rays—so I rescued them all, my first paperback library that scented my bedroom like spilt oil at an Exon station.
Port de Bras
Emerging from a forest grave, Giselle twirls on a pedestal reaching for the heavens, hands pressed together like a church steeple; palms flatten as if holding celestial powers above, her sheer glass body naked, pure, on pointe…round derrière tightening as she tilts her head backwards, rests it on an imaginary air pillow filtering “Swan Lake,” “Firebird” & “Sleeping Beauty” through museum wall speakers, separating Tchaikovsky, Adam & Stravinsky ballet scores from Wilis voices condemning betrayal, urging vengeance, forsaking mercy to those responsible for Giselle’s woodland crypt. Crystal lips murmur, express pleas, sing psalms, await a final release; frozen in time, light refracts through Giselle’s translucent torso, fragility defined by crackles rooted in a shattered heart; love’s power inspires imaginations to envision footwork— recall fluid movement on legs long & agile when the prima ballerina would spellbound nobles & commoners in crowded theaters, lifting eternity’s curse on romantics, evading drop-dead exhaustion—dancing until sunrise; now, her ice sculpted shroud anticipates death freed of her current performance. Petrified. Stiff. Cold.
©2022 Sterling Warner
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