I was dreaming of you — your eyes refulgent in the morning sun, shimmered silver: breathless. But I couldn’t breathe. I saw you dreaming of me by the lake — I was a fish. My scales burnished copper even in gauzy mist, but my heart, hooked with shiny lures, lay on the dock, splayed open.
* * *
A Small House on the Beach
The enchantress waved her wand and the porch unzipped from the railing, tossing planks into the sky, but they returned to the ground as a shower of matchsticks. Walls and roof shimmied in the blurry sun, and began to shrink—the whole house squeezed to a single room—a pantry full of food, and sofas, TVs and beds. And all the glass that popped out of frames, morphed to a mound of shiny sand. She, with the daintiness of a princess, scooped up the quartz dust and placed it in my hand. I was silent, though my mouth gaped; my eyes still fixed on what was my home. And she said to me, “Be careful what you wish for.”
John C. Mannone has been nominated three times for the Pushcart and once for the Rhysling. His work appears in literary and speculative fiction venues, such as Vermillion Literary Project, Conclave, New Mirage Journal, The Pedestal, Star*Line, Paper Crow, Enchanted Conversation, and many others. He is the poetry editor for the literary fantasy magazine, Silver Blade, an adjunct professor of physics in east Tennessee, and serves as a NASA/JPL Solar System Ambassador. Visit his blog, The Art of Poetry: http://jcmannone.wordpress.com.