the cab ride

rain splattered against the cold window

my breath fogging up the glass as I said

my address and slumped against torn navy blue

leather, thick purse straps falling down, down

and it hit with a thud and she’d ask what do you

have in there, anyway? rocks? but I’d always

laugh it off, but now I wish I’d showed her what

I kept, my cosmetics, knock-off Coach wallet

and a journal with her faded picture skotch taped

to the first page, I wanted to throw it at her

see! you know I love you, best friend, but

that time is now long gone. Watching the meter

run, run with blood pumping through my veins

ragged gasps for air, sweaty brown locks sticking

to the back of my neck, tear streaked cheeks,

she said I was going to be a runner one day,

maybe even beat her time. Well, all I know

is that I did beat her time, but not

in the way she intended. The cab stopped. I went

to pay but he refused. It’s on me, he said, before

driving back the twenty miles to the city.

-Madeline Wahl

The perfect date

Wax dripped from lit candles, smelling of autumn leaves

and apple cider, into a small clear glass jar on a table

set for two, pearl-white china plates and wine glasses

atop a warm mahogany wooden table with a dark red

tablecloth adorning the intimate setting. Oil paintings

from local artists lined the walls in gold frames and

crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, accentuating

the antique setting as if taken straight from an old

Victorian house. The waiter, in a crisp tucked-in white

shirt with ironed black slacks, would present the courses,

first of which a spinach salad with fresh strawberries,

walnuts and her favorite dressing, second, a medium-rare

steak with buttery mashed potatoes, lightly salted, third,

a slice of warm molten chocolate cake, drizzled with

caramel and as the live string violinist played, they’d

share dreams of traveling to Europe in their youth and

become owners of a little bakery in the city. She sips

her iced water glass, smudging her lipstick, before

closing her netbook and putting it into her purse and

placing a few wrinkled dollars for the bill and tip.

Another restaurant, another false hope.

-Madeline Wahl

walking in place

I’m walking in place, one foot next to the other, to stagnant images and stalled dreams, stuck in the transformation between imaginary and real like a broken record player forever reciting half of a word. I wear the same clothes, listen to the same songs, and dance to the same beat with the same drink in the same bar. The air is stale and the sun less refreshing, like swimming too long resulting in wrinkled fingers. There’s a word balancing on the tip of my tongue, a ballerina pirouetting before a crowd which already knows the last act. Escape.

a renewed morning

She spread her arms wide, the sun’s warmth

embracing her lithe body like reuniting

with an old friend at a favorite little bookstore

over freshly brewed coffee, chatting about

pursuing dreams once forgotten and

finding love in unexpected places. Finally,

finally, cracks once too deep and thought

unbearable filled with inspiration. The sun’s

rays burn brighter with each passing second

and night disappears behind her back,

fading from observable thought and tucked

in like a long-awaited good night’s rest

and she hugs herself, tightly, and even

places quarters into expired parking meters

before dancing into the rising sun.

-Madeline Wahl

those gaudy gold seat covers

the flickering flame from the cream-colored candle

dwindled in its confidence, exuding the sweet smell

of a ripened peach freshly plucked from fertile trees

before overcast clouds cast shadow upon the backyard,

thick raindrops pelted down like sports cars racing on

the highway, blurring snowcapped mountains as it past.

She closed the white lace blinds, a gift from two years ago,

before sinking into plush gold seat covers she thought gaudy

but kept anyway after he insisted. They were comfortable,

actually, but she never admitted it. Wrapping herself in

shredded quilted t-shirts from old college days, like taking

comfort from her mother’s arms when she was young, she

flipped through the television, read a page from her book,

wrote a sentence in her unfinished journal before receding

further into her fortress she constructed, lightning struck

with startling brightness before thunder, like hooves of

dozens of horse-drawn chariots, crackled overhead and

electricity flickered and knocked out once more. Moist

water droplets sneaked through, looking for a midnight

cookie, before she patched the cracked window with a

burnt orange towel and ebbed the chorus flowing from

ear to ear but she wasn’t listening. The bedspread was

too appealing, so comfortable tonight, or morning,

her watch broke that day and she never fixed it. Time is

meaningless. Heartbeats are her seconds. She snuggled

with her gold seat cover before counting how many

heartbeats will pass before their hearts can beat

together again.

-Madeline Wahl

worlds apart

Body heat flowed from his chest, enveloping

her in its warm embrace like a fire crackling

in the cozy fireplace during break, melting

chocolate and roasting marshmallows and

with sticky fingers placing it between

graham crackers. His eyes scanned the pages,

his blue-and-white plaid boxers tickling her

arm as she rested on her usual spot, his

shoulder more comforting than the ragged

blue elephant she’s slept with since birth.

She fiddled with the dog-eared page she had

marked at breakfast, diving into the fictional

world, the map laid out before her in structured

words and sentences, her personal treasure map

to the author’s imagination, adorned with myths,

fire-breathing dragons and a courageous young

hero. Gasping at the events unfolding before her

eyes, the wheels turning inside her head, she

tugged his sleeve but he barely moved, too

involved in his own story. She leaned back,

noticing that though they shared each others

body heat, their minds were worlds apart.

-Madeline Wahl

smell of an old book

the old book with worn pages,

crinkled corners, faded images

flopped open after she knocked

the sleek ebony black bookshelf

and caught the childhood favorite

between her hands, the cover like

her grandmother’s skin, wrinkled

and soft with years of wear, reminding

her of nights spent reading favorite

passages, adored character visits,

scene changes, plot twists, and

now a new one unfolds, save it

or keep it? the warm vanilla,

grassy, almond-like undertones

wraps its arms around her senses,

flooding her with emotions a

decade away, she hugs the book

to her chest, an old, faithful friend,

its new home on her bedside desk,

it’s time she reread it, anyway.

-Madeline Wahl

Dress Shopping

And in the end, through the sea of dresses, she found the one. The pearl that shined more than the rest. Shimmering in the sunlight, the pink dress of perfection had not one flaw, not one single rip. With a few discounts, the dress was within her price range. And as she signed the receipt and left the store, she felt she had the prize catch of the day.