Sounds Like a Breakup to Me

By Heather McCoy

Silent’s kin keel

Yore absents hertz two thee corps

Eye knead ewe, mown four ewe, whale fore ewe

Half two halve ewe

Fill ewe inn ma sole

Yore cent inn habits thee steel heir

Theirs know lite win yore aweigh

Theirs know piece

Aisle knot heel

Ewe cowered, ewe lyre

Eye maid ewe!

Ewe suite, vial prints

Eye caird fore ewe

Eye dyed four ewe

Eye lade bee sighed ewe mini knights

Ewe war vales too hyde yore pane

Yore torcher

Yore tiers

Sari eye deed knot sea

Silent’s kin keel

Prize Fight

Little water, they call it. It has properties and kick, remains in the head and soul upwards of two days. You have fought it and lost, won, came to a draw. Often and hard, you have judged the fight and thrown the punches, rang the bell and swept the trash when the world was empty. Silent as snow.

Music sounds different under that water, muted. Voices, too. And love, it suffers inwardly, unfamiliar with this kind of abuse. You recognize and retire into a brightness. Everything is concrete and random but important. Table, hat, kiss, touch, glass. Clear is the music and love lets go its suffering and you fight, ego strong.

ONCE UPON A CLICHE, Part 2

By Heather McCoy

I was madder than a wet hen. My friends had pulled me out of the frying pan and into the fire. I could feel my blood boil. I'd had it up to here with their attempts to make me happy.

Sure, time heals all wounds, but I was perfectly happy sowing my wild oats. Besides, I could still feel the egg on my face from the last relationship I screwed up. And I had always heard that history repeats itself.

Once bitten, twice shy, I did all I could NOT to fall for him. I was used to walking on eggshells around a drunken man who talked with his fists. The more I watched him, guitar in hand, the more I realized I should just take the bull by the horns. I would jump in head first - no reservations, no fears.

But this man was too good to be true. He sang like a bird and stole my breath away. His eyes his body, his smell - they all just sweetened the pot. Love no longer seemed like an uphill battle. It was as warm and inviting as grandma's kitchen.

He was a kind man; the type of man that would give you the shirt off his back. He was a real man - a man's man, strong as on ox. He had skeletons in the closet, but so did I.

I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers, and followed him out to the porch. "Hello," I mustered, tongue tied.

He took another draw from his cigarette, not missing a beat, before replying, "Hey."

I grew as water. It was time to sink or swim...

Now I look back on how I almost cut off my own nose to spite my face. He was nearly the one who got away. My dream man, my soul mate. I thank my lucky stars for my love and the twist of fate that brought us together.

***

Heather McCoy rocks it like a peanut butter famine (copyright Joey Goebel)

Play This When I'm Beneath the Stone

ONCE UPON A CLICHE, Part 1

By Heather McCoy

It was a dark and stormy night, raining like cats and dogs. There was lightning as far as the eye could see, and I had an axe to grind.

He was a bad seed, but I fell head over heels anyway. He danced to the beat of a different drummer; cold as ice and hot as a fox in a firestorm. His eyes looked straight through me. I grew weak in the knees and fell like a ton of bricks.

I had opened up a Pandora's Box, but I never take the path of least resistance. He came into my life, guns a'blazin and tore my heart out.

A Welfare Christmas

This is not a test. Please understand this is not a test.

(yes it is)

News in Brief.

I may be moving Bent Country to Wordpress soon. All things are not yet in order for that and I'm still trying to figure out some things. I want to make sure the old blog doesn't get lost in the shuffle for those who read it from time to time. But just saying. I might be looking for boxes soon. I guess, if the moves goes, I'll have a post here saying something like: "Hey, Bent Country is over HERE now" or something, and maybe the url for the new roosting place.