A Mystery by Paul Perilli It often feels like we’re living in an age of identity obfuscation. People choose alias, noms de plume, stage names, nicknames . . . sometimes it must be hard to remember exactly who you are. Or, in the case of Ben, whom this story is about, how you ever got yourself into such a mess that you had to change your name and . . .. But let’s let author Paul Perilli open the creaking door to tell us Ben’s story. ** THE STREETS OF NEW YORK CHANGE as often as the seasons. Each year businesses come and go. For the most part their opening and closing have little effect on me. The Mexican restaurant on Manhattan Ave. I ordered from once or twice a year is now an empty…
“Spare Parts,” Poetry by John Kucera
Spare Parts I like best the ones that change: Elephant. Tiger. Bear. Old books on the shelves reflecting every self I’ve ever been. The boy who thought he’d do much better to the man who got fired for correcting his boss. The trips to the zoo and the trips to Europe and the trips back home during midterms where I carried the books in cardboard boxes up staircases to rooms that were long ago abandoned. I’ve outgrown this old house and want to let my old selves breathe. I can’t stand to leave them stacked on the shelves. Or in boxes. I open the small ones last and count the contents. I recount them later because if one went missing it would leave a hollow space. ** Determinism Boxing isn’t really about pain. To hurt…
A. Rayan El Nadim Presents Performance Poetry
Editor’s Note: A. Rayan El Nadim is an Egyptian poet whose work has been translated from Arabic into English here for your enjoyment on The Fictional Café. He categorizes his work as conceptual and performance poetry, specifically, “a deep dive into myths, folklore, and the secrets of inherited improvisational folk songs that deeply express pain, suffering and dream; the history of the Egyptian folk treasures; the songs of Rababa, a rediscovery of the true history buried in the walls of Egyptian houses; and the rituals of joy and sadness that lived for thousands of years on both banks of the Nile.” My name has been crossed out a long time ago on a brick wall -1- I searched for my name in my body I found it engraved in aversion, estrangement, and revulsion I searched…
“Love on the Road” — The Poetry of Irving Glassman
Love On The Road We hug and kiss in the fast food parking area From their SUV my family waves farewell to me We are on the same road until they slow to approach their exit For an instant we are side by side Everyone turns in their seats and throws me an extra kiss They look like any other family Except they’re my family # # # Crossing Over My daughter runs, hops, and skips To the curb’s edge For her ritual rite of passage I assure her it’s safe to cross She runs, hops and skips To the opposite curb “I’m a grown up now,” she yells I yelled back, “Don’t grow up yet. You have time.” …
“Carson McCullers,” Poetry by Abigail George
Carson McCullers I will always love music, she said to me. Turned her face away and became a sad ghost like all the people that I have loved in my life. The sad ghost, dead snakes, the religious, the ordered hide mischief in plain sight. The geranium has a tongue and the sky appears to be falling. The moon walks wider now. It curls up. The red-haired sun does not know how to travel lightly in summer. She swoons. She will fall at your feet if you remove articles of your clothing. I travel light in these heavy years. Waving earlier to the good women who pass me by. With their white teeth and their sweet breath. Bread to the soul. And the wind is sunburnt from the form and shape of the river, to the…