M.J. Iuppa lives on Red Rooster Farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Most recent poems, lyric essays and fictions have appeared in the following journals: Poppy Road Review, Black Poppy Review, Digging to the Roots, 2015 Calendar, Ealain, Poetry Pacific Review, Grey Sparrow Press: Snow Jewel Anthology, 100 Word Story, Avocet, Eunoia Review, Festival Writer, Silver Birch Press: Where I Live Anthology,Turtle Island Quarterly, Wild Quarterly, Boyne Berries Magazine (Ireland), The Lake, (U.K.), Punchnel’s, Camroc Review, Tar River Poetry, Corvus Review, Clementine Poetry, Postcard Poetry & Prose, and Brief Encounters: A Collection of Contemporary Nonfiction, edited by Judith Kitchen and Dinah Lenney(Norton), among others. She is the Director of the Visual and Performing Arts Minor Program at St. John Fisher College.
He Didn’t Intend To Get Close
Complaints never clogged her throat, yet he imagined it. He served a bony fish for dinner, knowing she was a refugee; yet, he was the one stuck in this bedroom community. He met her at a Huggers happy hour. Wine and cheese and skiing on a mountain covered in fresh snow— everything said, soft winter glow. It all looked different by March. The truth was what he noticed when his half-closed eyes got a real look at her: Her wine-stained mouth never stopped moving, and her exquisite beauty mark— he touched her cheek— gone.
1.Rollie-Pollie, armadillo of the bug world, rolled up tight as a pill. Terrestrial. Always on the right track— waiting to be discovered when a rock in the garden is lifted, revealing night’s secrecy.
2. Women’s thoughts: deception is beauty in the woods where pink lady slippers bloom among fallen moss-covered trees. Melancholy passes over the scene, wanting flowers that are as intimate as incidental lovers.
3. Bound and tied with wire rope, the gray boulder sits in a dry river of stones. Anchored by misgivings, it stays in the same spot. Years have gone by, still there, out of touch.
4. Sleepless night. I wander the rows of the just planted garden. Is everything where I left it? Wind rinses over shadows, sending a chill under my nightgown. I remember leaving you.
A Modest Proposal
I’m fond of found money. Finding loose change on the sidewalk, or folded bills tucked in the pocket of my forgotten jeans, or a crisp single in one of my books that was put down, then picked up just when I needed it most, makes me want to smile a lot, but I only grin a little. I purse my lips, double checking the do-re-mi before I put it in another safe place.
What could I do with a C-note? Buy groceries. Take you out to dinner twice, maybe three times. Pick up a new shade of lip gloss. Have a clear conscience in Goodwill. Hide it in my sock drawer. Save it for car repair. Go to a_______ concert. Steal away for two days. Think about it.