Jane Hulstrunk

Untitled

Response Piece

Irene Plax

Lagoon

Inspiration Piece

Water rippled outward and the mermaid’s face came to the surface first. Next her arms, long and graceful and pale green. She pushed herself onto a rock, reclined, admired the sun twinkling on her scales.

Her land-hearing was poor. She felt the vibrations when it was already too late, and turned just as the human man appeared. He snatched a handful of her hair and yanked it. Mostly it was too slick for him, but the mermaid felt a few follicles twist out. She whapped at him with her caudal fin. He staggered back, but before she could dip into the water he lunged forward and scraped at her breast with his dry, calloused hand.

She rolled toward him and hugged his legs.

Together they fell in the water. She was much stronger there, and his thrashing was no worse than the fish she ate for breakfast. When the bubbles from his face stopped, she let go of him and swam away. She didn’t bother to watch him sink.

Jane Hulstrunk

Untitled

Inspiration Piece

Irene Plax

Sunbathing

Response Piece

If she was lucky, she could get in a whole hour. The mermaid humped her body onto a low, flat rock and lay down. The water in her navel dried slowly. She stared at the exposed earth and watched the sun rays bake stone.

There was no sea-moss covering the cliffs. She murmured peacefully by the still water, then broke into a hum. Her mouth opened and her voice escaped, lifting, traveling into space. How sweet, she thought, to sing freely, without the resistance of water.

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Reflections of Peace

Linda Neas

Inspiration Piece

Nice Ink

Irene Plax

Response

“Nice ink.”

“Thanks, it’s the Libra sign.”

“Yeah, I know. My brother’s birthday was September 30^th. He was a Libra.”

“Did he have any tattoos?”

“Nah, not his thing. He was really into art, though. How come you got it done?”

“I was sitting by this pond this fall, around when I turned 18, and just thinking about the tattoo I wanted to get. Then I saw the reflection in the water of the Libra sign, and I knew that was like, what I had to get.”

“Cool. It was a sign.”

“Yeah, totally. Do you have any of his artwork?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

“Cool.”

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or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or
artist is strictly prohibited.

Pharoah Bolding
Inspiration piece

Irene Plax
Response

I fell asleep listening to the President being interviewed on the radio.

“Mr. President, what about the videos of peaceful protesters being attacked by armed military guards? The videos have gone viral, and the international community is forming opinions about what is happening in your country.”

“Fake,” he says. “I can stage an event, film it, and put it on the internet too. You see? And then everyone will want to come help me. But I am a man of honor, and I will not do such things.”

“And the last report from the assassinated journalist?”

Pretty soon I am dreaming. I know it’s a dream is because I have it a lot: The streets are empty but someone is coming. I am waiting behind a corner for them. I have to kill them, and I don’t want to, but the adrenaline will carry me. The longer I wait the more excited I become to pull the trigger.

In my dream, I know this is going to change my life. I’ll be on the lam because there will be evidence against me. My mother won’t understand why I did this. I won’t either. I won’t recognize myself. I’ll lie to the radio and TV reporters. I’ll lie under oath. I will dismiss the evidence against me as being fake.

I hear rusting of trash on the ground further down around the corner. I try to wake myself up.

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or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or
artist is strictly prohibited.

Irene Plax 

Inspiration Piece

Irene Plax

Response

My tia asked me why I didn’t dance with anyone at the New Year’s Eve party. She told me it’s bad luck not to dance, and whatever you’re doing at midnight is how the rest of your year will be.

Everyone knows I like guys, even if they don’t talk about it. My tia doesn’t know that I talked to seven different guys, or that I shimmied up two different palm trees early that morning to collect as many coconuts as I could, or that I kept the sharpest machete for myself so they would have to ask me to cut them open and I could watch them drink. Even if they only stayed by me a short time, I know they liked being watched.

So maybe I wasn’t dancing like everyone else, but I was making my moves. This is my year.

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Bonnie Lebesch
Inspiration piece

Untitled
By Irene Plax
Response

The marrow transplant
Was a success. White blood cells
Came back. She shined light.

by Kelly Newton

Quitting

by Irene Plax

Response Piece

Possum spots the prize when she casts her beady eyes toward the ground.

Near her home in the forest, there is an entirely different home full of humans, which sits neatly on a square foundation. The presumptuous bounds of this structure cannot impose limitations on a shapeless cloud of scent. Possum knows to watch the trash. Their human family and her animal family glimpse each other with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. On occasion they see themselves in each other, carrying their young, carrying food to their hungry mouths.

Possum heads out, down the tree, making her way faster now.

She is running toward the trash. Her eyes had not deceived her; there are two or three entire fruit pieces.

She grabs the fruit. She rips into it, feasting until she is full. For a moment she is too full to move, but she begins to gather the fruit into her mouth, waddling.

But then there is a scuffle, and that noisy human father is in her space outside. Possum takes her fruit, squeezes behind a trash can and plays dead.

Brian had a long and terrible day. Glad to be home, the babies finally asleep after a fight, exhausted, he had made himself a much-deserved cup of tea. He reached up to the cabinet to get the sugar, and the box had tipped and spilled on top of him. It was in his hair, clothes, and even in his palms where he instinctively caught some. He could not win. He goes outside to shake himself off by the trash, and is feeling defeated when he smells dead animal.

“Shit”, he says, feeling the weight of another thing to take care of as he moves the trash can out of the way. He sees Possum, and next to her, the fruit.

He pauses to admire the technique.

“I see what you’re up to. Game over”.

He brushes the sugar from his skin but leaves it in his hair and goes inside. He lets the door slam and kicks off his shoes. He cruises past the mess in the kitchen and doesn’t bother checking on anyone else. Brian gets in his bed and shuts down. By the time he is in a REM cycle, Possum’s babies are dozing with bellies full of fruit.

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by Kelly Newton

Chopped

by Irene Plax

Inspiration Piece

Her heels clicked down the street, for once, the only sound.

She was carrying a rose, which she got for free at a French bistro called L’Express. A guy on the subway said, “Your boyfriend got you that rose?” and she said, ‘Yeah”.

The lie was dumb and weightless in her mouth, like a marshmallow.

She imagined herself a tree in a green forest. Inside, where chlorophyll moved through wick, there would be no need for lies, high heels, or subways.

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.