American Beauty
She is made. Built. From dirt up.
In fact, her feet are dirty,
Because she’s walked many a mile,
Truckin’ the land.
Truckin’ the land where it was all built.
Keep going.
You move up her legs,
And they’re miles long,
Like the miles of time she’s spent.
There are dimples in her knees and calves,
Like little valleys where we travel like lowlifes.
Keep going.
Her womb is the cradle that said,
“Behind every great man there is a strong woman.”
Without her, he couldn’t have,
Wouldn’t have
Built it. The curves of her body,
Are winding roads in the heart,
Where you drive to get away for a while.
They swing around you,
Like a needle swings around a record in its groove.
Keep going.
Her bosom is ample and abundant,
Giving.
But her shoulders are dainty.
Together, it makes her pretty sturdy,
But you wouldn’t know it looking at her,
Because her heart explodes with both,
Pain and pleasure.
It’s come so far,
Yet...yet.
It’s gone somewhere and nowhere at the same time,
Because people are weird.
Well, at least there’s a place to get away,
Where little people live.
At least there’s a place,
Where people still know how to want,
Without words, but actions.
Anyway, keep going.
When you get to her neck,
You just want to rub her shoulders,
Because everything is so tight.
But that’s what happens,
When she bares the weight of the world.
Keep going.
Her face,
At first you’re unimpressed,
Because it’s sturdy, pretty, but plain.
But look closer.
Her full, pinkish lips,
Have this mischievous, quiet smile.
What’s she thinkin’?
You just don’t know.
But you know she’s stepping high,
And ambition is the tune she stomps,
On the sidewalk of the city.
There’s a glow to her cheeks.
The woman walks among us,
But the girl lives within.
But, the truth is in her eyes.
Blue has never been made of so many different colors.
And they see with the color visionary,
But they don’t see at the same time.
There’s so much left,
And she’s not even happy with this poem,
Because so much is left.
But then she sees…
It’s still being built.
And she just smiles,
And plays with the hair that’s grayed,
With the years.
The Mountain
Prologue
“But when ye shall see the abomination of desolation, spoken of by Daniel the prophet, standing where it ought not (let him that readeth understand), then let them that be in Judaea flee to the mountains.” -Mark 13:14 KJV
Chapter 1
At one time, the Blue Ridge Parkway buzzed with life. At one time, it had been a favorite Sunday afternoon luxury for families from all around. Who didn’t enjoy leaves and cider in the fall? Who wouldn’t be awed by the vastness of the mountains and landscape seen from Lover’s Leap? And even more, how much more could Maya long that all of that still existed as she once knew it?
In this world, Maya, along with everyone, was both a victim and a hero. During the invasion, Maya had saved people, had needed saving, and had been everywhere in between. Two years ago, the world had been surprised by an invasion of the ever-speculated life on Mars that scientists had spent years arguing about whether it existed. However, these were not your typical, bulb-headed green creatures that we’d seen in the movies. When we had speculated life on Mars, the world had imagined creatures entirely different from us, but that was not the case. The creatures that violently invaded homes and streets had been horrifyingly like humans. The difference? These creatures had died some years ago and were half decomposed. They stood on two legs like humans and could stumble clumsily forward, only making the effort to run when provoked by wild, instinctive hunger. They were the embodiment of the animal that lives inside humans, the one that is only tempered by our capacity for emotion and compassion. It was this that drove the human race into hiding. This was what drove Maya and those she loved to the Mountain.
As the resources were in the once more-populated areas of the world, that was where the creatures, or as they had come to know them, the Anti-humans, had flocked to. Of course. So, it was this that had Maya out in a small, deserted rural town scavenging what was left in the once wonder-filled general stores and not in the middle of a big city somewhere. Maya’s family had been one of the first to leave for the Mountain when it happened, and this was lucky because they had been able to supply themselves with some salt-cured ham, apples, flour, and other necessities to make some long-lasting, sustainable food. Her father had immediately gone for the farming and planting materials, and so they were able to grow a garden. Maya and her family had more than most actually. Living on a meal and a half a day, her family had lived semi-comfortably considering the circumstances for the better part of two years.
Maya looked at the deserted general store. As the chill of colder days had begun to set in, and the Community’s supplies dwindled quite a bit, she had volunteered to scavenge for more food. In her hand, she had her husband Jackson’s shotgun for defense, or in the event she spotted a nice deer. As she walked the desolate aisles of the store, she wielded it in front of her, prepared for anything that might surprise her. The Anti-humans had not populated the rural mountain communities much yet, but still, a rare stray was never out of the question, and if they were hungry, you were dead. Despite looking like zombies and obviously “dead”, they did not lazily and aimlessly limp behind you if they saw you. The most dangerous aspect of the Anti-humans was that they had a relentless capacity for the chase. If you became their prey, the chase would be unending. While you would eventually tire and slow, these awful predators would not. You would not become the living dead like so many zombie movies had depicted. You were bound to die of exhaustion in the chase or as a meal if you became the target. And so Maya was ready.
All the quiet of the Mountain gave a person time to think, and so when Maya wasn’t clinging tightly to every shred of family time she could, Maya did a lot of this. She thought back to her home living room sitting with her family. They were in the middle of one of their famous family discussions. They tended to have these discussions regularly about everything from good music and good wine to the many “what-if” scenarios of life. During this particular discussion, her dad, Greg, spoke up.
“You know, the Bible says that in a time of catastrophe, you’re supposed to flee for the mountains,” he said matter-of-factly.
“So, if the world were to end, where exactly in the mountains would we go?” Maya asked.
“Where else? To the Third Sunday Church up in the Blue Ridge, of course.”
Maya smiled at her dad as she fondly thought of that little piece of paradise. Maya had grown up going to a tiny Baptist church in the Blue Ridge mountains. They only met every other Sunday, but each Sunday created its own little slice of heaven. The church was old, white, and small, situated down in a quaint valley that sat way back off the road. Dogwood trees blossomed there in the spring, filling the air with the smell of new life. Down beside the church, there was a dirt road overshadowed by tall, green trees that made a beautiful, glowing hallway into what could only be classified as the vision of simple happiness. But what truly made this church was the people. While most of the members were well into their seventies and eighties, they welcomed you with youthful ardor that brought sunshine to the place even when it rained. And who could forget the food? Maya’s heart warmed and her stomach grumbled just thinking about it.
At the time of that discussion, Maya had only rested on the warm feelings of nostalgia that thinking of her family and that wonderful little place had fostered. She had not thought of the wild pandemonium of running for her life to that place if catastrophe were to strike. But when the time actually came, that’s all there was. Panic and fear. It was a long time, months and months, after they made it to the church that they could allow themselves to be filled with, at very least, the joy of being together.
Step. Shuffle-slide. Step. Shuffle-slide. Something was coming. Maya slowly and silently readied her gun. She listened. An Anti-human was just on the other side of the aisle shelves. She eased sideways so as not to have her back to it. She waited until she had sight of the creature to get a good shot. And she trembled a little with her finger on the trigger when she realized it was close enough that she could feel its hot, ragged breath on her face.