Jeff Friedman – Poet

Flurry

Flurry

My lover and I disagreed about where to keep the baby. She flew into a flurry of snow. “Enough already,” I said. In the other room, the baby cried. The snow melted in my hair and on my forehead, drops running down my face. The snow was sticking to the floor. “I want the baby where and when I want the baby,” she said. “But the baby is ours,” I said and stood my ground over by the coffee table. “Only in name,” she answered, her flurries waning. “I’m the mommy.” The baby cried louder. I closed the window. “You’re a flurry of snow,” I said, “no two ways about it.” She rose into a bright whiteness. “My baby is a bundle of snow,” she said, rocking him back and forth. Now I began to shiver. When I turned the heat up, gusts of snow blew against my face and body, blinding me until I pulled out my snow goggles. The room went dark for a second. That’s when the crying stopped.

(Published in Zone 3)

Horse

Horse

Give me a horse, he said, so we gave him a horse; only now he needed a paddock so he could parade the horse, so we gave him a paddock; only now he needed a saddle, so we gave him a saddle; only now he needed a leg up, so we lifted him by his boot; only now he needed a racetrack, competition—other jockeys and horses— and a crowd, so we gave him all of it, and he took off flying around the track at a record pace; only now he needed a finish line and cameras flashing, so we gave him a finish line and the cameras aimed in his eyes; only now he needed a trophy to lift over his head and a big pay off, so we gave him the trophy and a big pay off to boot; when he turned around, the money was gone. He pawned the trophy for pennies. When he returned to the track, it wasn’t there. Give me a horse, he said; so we stuffed a bit in his mouth and spurred his sides until he took off in a mad gallop; now he didn’t even need us.

(Published in Poet Lore)

A Night with Bonita

After Taylor Corliss slept with Bonita Hernandez, his pleasure was so great he fell into a coma. I knew thousands of men and women who wanted to sleep with Bonita, myself included. What did Taylor have? I wondered. What magic? He lay in a hospital bed at St. Mary’s for months until Bonita raised him with a simple kiss. The doctors said it was a miracle. His wife Alexis agreed, but added, “It’s too bad he didn’t stay in a coma. Now what do I do with him?”

After Nana Befresco slept with Bonita, she suddenly developed a skill at carving wooden dolls. She rented the storefront next to Joe’s Tires and set up a studio. In one summer she created a thousand representations of Bonita, Bonita as a model, Bonita naked in the sun, Bonita eating an ice cream cone, Bonita playing with her touch phone, Bonita ducking out of the rain, Bonita as a little girl drawing stick figures, Bonita as a stick figure, Bonita sucking her thumb, Bonita in the throes of orgasm, Bonita shaving her legs, Bonita pretending to be a duck. Soon her reputation as a dollmaker spread, and everyone was commissioning Bonita dolls. I bought a few myself.

After Ferdinand the Great slept with Bonita, he became a recluse in his mini palace. No one saw him for months and then he left for California. “He’s been taking female hormones ever since,” my friend Jerry Stolen stated. “He wants an operation,” but first
he’s got to save the money, and he’s still paying child support.” Once I heard Bonita had opened her beautiful thighs for Ferdinand, I thought for sure I had a chance.

I went to the diner every night, but Bonita was always too busy taking orders and carrying away dirty dishes. Finally I got up the nerve to ask her out while she stood at the cash register. She wiped her hands on a towel, then scanned a bill and slid a credit card through the slot. “I’m busy this month,” she replied.

Pretty soon everyone was claiming to have slept with Bonita. Since her night with Bonita, Gail Holtzman couldn’t get any sleep, even though she took sleeping pills and pills for depression. Juwan Ojuwon was seeing a chiropractor for a back problem. Since sleeping with Bonita, Ari Oneida lost his paper route and went on unemployment. Arnie Simmons gave up his job as a mortgage loan officer at the bank and started writing songs and playing guitar, panhandling on Main Street. Tulip Mayer fell hard on the ice and broke an ankle. The guy from the sporting goods shop sent her a van full of gifts, including warm up suits, tights, running shoes, chafing sticks, roller blades, hockey sticks, basketballs, Smartwool sox and head warmers.

After my friend Jerry slept with her, he came down with a flu and was in bed for days, and then the flu spread to all of his friends, lingering among us for months. “Was it worth giving us all flu?” I asked. He didn’t answer but handed me a tissue as I began another fit of coughing.

(Published in Cardinal Points)

Wheels on Fire

“Make it go away,” she said. I kissed her forehead, her skin clammy. I turned over my hat, pulling out a thousand silk scarves, all different colors, and tossing them in the air, where they floated. Out of the hat flew a white dove, landing on Julia’s lap. She lifted it toward her face, barely able to hold up her arms. The dove disappeared, a single white feather clinging to her palms.

Next, two puppets tangoed in mid-air, ending their dance with a kiss. A Spanish Flamenco guitar player arose from the shadows and played, as a gypsy woman in a red dress took the stage. She raised her arms, pounding her feet and clicking the castanets in her hands, taunting the darkness. Now Julia laughed aloud but the pain started again and tears streamed down her face. I brought her a glass of water and another pill, which she had difficulty swallowing. Then the water became hot brandy with a little nutmeg. “Sip this.”

I set in motion four small fiery wheels, spinning like little worlds. Julia smiled and wrapped herself in the afghan as she sat on the couch. She was frail and tired looking, but her brown eyes still had a spark in them. A blue smoke rose from the fiery wheels. The air grew warm, though Julia shivered. With my index finger, I caused the wheels to revolve in a circle like a flaming carousel. “It’s beautiful,” Julia whispered. When she coughed, I waved my hand until the flames went out, the wheels dissolving into blue smoke, the blue smoke vanishing into my handkerchief.

(Published by Connotation Press: An Online Artifact)