Notebook

Religious billboards

2 for 1 Tasty Cakes

Mariah Carey

7-11 coffee

Best of the 80s pop hits

Interstate fatigue

Vending machine glow

Vacant public restroom stalls

Cigarettes in pocket

DMV seating

Lottery scratch-off ticket

Restless leg syndrome

Gossip magazine

Zero calorie Red Bull

Waiting room carpet

M.McCloy

11/13/18

We sat in the parking lot of the Dairy Queen

Even though she would’ve closed three hours ago

If she were open in the dead of winter

We were in our car though

So we could stare into the darkness past the ripped seat cushions

In the 15 year-old interior

We came to the parking lot during the day too

Sometimes even in the summer

And then we would see the beach

The seagulls

And oh so many people

As we dodged the parking meter fees

But it was January

And 1am

And we don’t smoke weed anymore

So instead we just talk about our newest habits

The unhealthy relationships

3 cups of coffee a day

Not eating meat

And dream about the future

Even though it extends far beyond the car

The lot

The beach

And reaches into the darkness

M.McCloy

3/3/18

There’s no pain;

Only the bleeding of sunlight through treetop patchwork
Only the break of retired leaves under heavy boots
Only the struggle of the babble and breeze
Only the pressure of increasing latitude
Only the burden of a backpack
Only the bite of a gnat
Only the death of disharmony,

Until the first step on pavement.

M. McCloy
9/21/17

In the middle of the movie set
I looked up from my folding chair.
 
Somehow they hung the stars perfectly.
I loved how they glowed against the black ceiling,
Illuminating the curtains draped around us.
 
We crowded around the fire that we were given,
Giggling as we roasted potato chips instead of marshmallows,
And probably taking for granted
The warmth it brought to that chilly warehouse.
 
We knew that our conversations
wouldn’t make sense off of the set,
Even though they seemed to come so naturally to us.
 
I told everyone that I loved the set.
Yet they laughed at me,
And said this wasn’t any movie set.
But sometimes they’re made that well I guess.

M. McCloy
6/30/17

Pale white desert dunes
Stretch miles in matte moonlight
Along the gray sea

Bare feet anchored in the sand,
the salty mist coats my skin
And the breeze flirts with my loose hair

With my arms at my sides
The boundless black sky above
And gravity below

This is where I’ll go.

M. McCloy
3/3/17

Yellow
transition

1. Yield. The signal above “go” and below “stop.” The hesitation nested between the brake and the acceleration.
2. Passing. The color of the sun only at sunrise and sunset. The moment in between the bright blue of the day and the inky black of the night.
3. Silence. The isolation one feels when falling out of love. The months in between the bliss and the break.

M.McCloy
8/20/16

The rectangles are arranged so perfectly. Each parallel to the next, equidistant and strategically placed for an even spread of neutral reds. I stare down at the bricks under my feet and run my fingers through the allies of cement that separate them.

This front stoop’s bricks have absorbed the smoke of past summers, the flash of nighttime photographs, and the dirt and sand that linger after adventures. The bricks could recite the hellos, goodbyes, and goodnights that are exchanged across their expanse. The bricks have witnessed kisses, stomps, and confrontations. They collect hair and gum wrappers. They are expert at identifying the bugs that venture across their crust. They know that a cold blanket means winter and a burning surface means summer. They have watched children move into the house that they protect and soon they will watch adults leave their dominion.

I keep my focus down as a breeze brushes strands of my loose hair over my shoulder.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he asks as he takes my hair from the wind and weaves his fingers through its locks.

“Nothing,” I say.

I can feel the bricks smirk beneath my feet as my lie echoes through their crevices.

M.McCloy
6/8/16