“Like Winged Origami Suspended by a String Over an Ocean of Desire”
written by: Aaron Wulf
—I stepped outside today, and saw a bird soaring, no,
floating in place, high above the swing set.
I’d have thought time had stopped if it wasn’t for the wind
tousling my angry-angled hair.
For that moment, time froze for me too,
and I was that white-bellied bird
gliding against the gale, wings angled upward,
lifted by the current sailing through my backyard.
There was no sea, no parking lot,
and I thought, maybe it was lost,
for a handful of seconds, I sympathized,
until the moment died with the wind,
and the gull was gone—
I wish I could pause against the wind
Like the gull in the overture of the day
Suspended like the mobile of winged origami
Hanging over my child’s bed, because
Recently my fingers have been jumping like crickets
Towards that fourth lemon crème pastry
In the cardboard box from yesterday morning
Overconsumption has never offered fulfillment
Not for me
And yet I yearn for that sweetness
If only to feel relief for one second of a day
I like to believe I don’t play by culture’s rules
It’s my choice to indulge or tell myself no
But these jimineys still
Scroll
Scroll
Scroll
On the newest social portal
Craving that dopamine overload
Like a ravenous seagull swooping in
Snatching filthy snacks from all over messy parking lots
And when that obsession dissolves
I look forward to whatever excitements await
So give me the newest tune that I can bang my head to
The next greatest energy drink, the latest viral trend
Anything to make a lonely moment seem worthwhile
Petty entertainment is better than an evening of honest work
It’s funny
What a waste my conscious is, when all I want
Is that very first sip of cola, sugar rush enjoyment
A virgin roller coaster descent
Stomach flipping into my throat
The wind violently embracing my face as I laugh
That first kiss, first touch of a lover’s skin
Their fingertips stroking my stomach
Those freaking butterflies—
But this is sad
I get the urge for passion and, man
I just run with it like a car smashing into a wall
Brakes screaming as tires crumple plastic cups
The car explodes in bolts and broken glass
Gulls retreat to the lampposts, then return to eat
(How much of this is even real?
Because even dreams can change the world)
And maybe I’ll survive, maybe not
It’s hypothetical, but still deadly
It’s usually messy, oh yes
But passion hangs like smoke when the fires go out
I’ll continue full tilt racing forward towards that barrier
A couple blocks down from my cozy heated home
A warm bed begging me to come back, but
I’m racing against my own inner wisdom
And none other
Speeding is exciting
Until a sudden unexpected stop
And every time I crash my car
The mess is less beautiful, so
I lunge out the flapping door, hungry for more
Mouth ajar, joining the feathered flock
Teeth gnawing like a carrion scavenger
Scarfing down discarded hamburgers, old pizza, and crackers
In the parking lot of West-Mall Plaza
A seagull infested auto-wrecked paradise
Filling my gullet to the ever-filling brim like the fabled hungry ghosts of the east
Anything to satisfy my tongue’s demands, before I walk home
And melt into my couch
My thumb glides over glass
Eyes glazed over newsfeeds and sponsored ads
Same old games, television shows on the flatscreen
Another scratch-off ticket in my pocket
Another win, another loss
Broken bagel on the black top, a greedy gull’s prize
Excavated from beneath an old leaky transmission block
Just let me enjoy the sweet delicacy while it lasts
Before there’s nothing left
Besides discarded car parts
Scattered across an abandoned parking lot
Like skeletal remains after a vulture’s feast
I wake up late the next morning with a stomach ache—
The sun rises
Crickets quit chirping, the wind picks up
Blowing all of last night’s remnants away
And I give in to the the calm of the gull
Like the winged origami
Suspended in time
And the white bellied bird
The one from my backyard
I know, we’re one in the same
Ignoring those oil soaked crumbs
A couple blocks down
At the West-Mall Plaza
That would eventually have killed me
Poisoning my insides
Before I found my peace
With a little resistance
From the wind
Fingers
Conscious
I can breathe
See the trash for what it is
And make my peace
Aaron Wulf is a fiction writer and a poet living in Northwest Ohio with his wife, three sons, a cat, and the tiniest dog ever. This is his poetry debut, but he has many more poems yet to come. He has spent most of his time writing short stories, novellas, and content development for the fantasy series Dragonband, which has three anthologies available online now. Aaron loves game and movie nights with his family, obsessing over music, and has an unhealthy fascination with pastries and caffeine.
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Awesome! Memorable!