Scott Waters lives in Oakland, California with his wife and son. He graduated with a Master’s Degree in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. Scott has published previously in The Blue Nib, The Pacific Review, Loch Raven Review, Adelaide, Better Than Starbucks, A New Ulster, Selcouth Station, The Courtship of Winds, Scarlet Leaf Review, The Pangolin Review, Ink in Thirds, and many other journals.
Buffalo clouds stampede west to east sitting on the back stairs on the ledge of a continent hummingbirds zip from pomegranate blossoms to Mexican sage to oleander to plum branch one hovers directly above my head eyeing my bald scalp I imagine tiny feet sharp as twigs gripping the thin layer of skin grown over bone like moss on a boulder before darting away to hitch a ride on a herd of clouds
NOTHING WAS DELIVERED
Through this morning’s window the horizon of hills is a powder blue pencil lying at the base of a grey wall the downhill neighbor’s umbrella is a circle of purple and red ripples on white water this side of the window— the collapsed navy blue chair in the corner is a garbage can covered with pecking pigeons and the sigh from the other room is the end of my deliverance.
Two brown pelicans flap face-first into the wind waves roll below in choppy white crests shredded crepe paper clouds drift overhead the trail threads between glittering bay and potholed road with semi-trucks hauling away containers fresh from Asia smoke rising like dragons from exhaust pipes I turn my face to the gusting marine breeze let down my mask for a minute breathe the salted air deep into my lungs feel their rusty hinges groan and crackle with the unfamiliar lubricant of fresh air five years ago my Subaru rode 20,000 miles across the waves in one of those colorful containers wheels squeaking on the cold damp floor 3,000 pounds of steel, aluminum, copper, glass and rubber tilting and straining against chains wrapped around greasy axles Now— mask securely back on my face tires humming on pavement engine purring like an uncaged tiger I drive toward home and whatever the future will be.