Creative Writing

All graphics by Sam Goodman

 
 
 
 

Marilyn

Awarded Outstanding Nonfiction Prose at the 40th annual Evvy Awards

When my grandmother was a little girl, she used to chase the iceman down the block. As he slowly delivered much-needed chill for neighbor’s iceboxes, Marilyn followed behind his truck and collected falling ice chips. She cooled her forehead and let them melt on her tongue…

TBD (To Be Demolished)

I stole my father’s sweatshirt before I flew for Boston. Its burnt-orange fabric smelled like California free and wild, and suburbia hot and dry, clear sky, miles from city smog. The feeling of an early morning car ride and linen, fresh out of the dryer. Mother tucks and folds my bedding and I am safe and I am warm. Now that is home. Then, the warmth goes and I am on my way. To Boston. It smells. Like the city…Now, this is home.

 
 

The BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO BUILDING A HOME

I spent most of my adolescence patiently waiting for my future to arrive. I waited for the sound of her knock on my door. I was ready to answer.

 

Dusty Winds, Snow-Capped Mountains

The trees are sweetly blooming and the chickweed has grown wild in the windy lowlands. California poppies see visitors unwanted. Children have left their sniffles in the dander of May.

The Spirit of She

She is the Sublime. Incorporeal, the primordial energy, She defies mind, body, and spirit. She knows and sees that which we cannot. Keeper of wisdom, prophet of posterity, She is Woman, the omnipotent spirit of She. And I am Jacob, climbing the ladder between earth and heaven, a humble worshiper of all that is holy.

WHERE ARE YOU, SAM?

In a reversal of Steinbeck, I always found in myself a dread of east and a love of west. I’d take rolling hills over endless plains, cloudless blues skies over heavy grays. Yet despite my love for the Los Angeles sun, I’ve always feared its heat.

 

PALM SPRINGS

To reach the rich oasis you must cross the red-hot sand. Just beyond the desert, there is a golden city. It’s warm and dry there. The wind carries dirt across my window and beams of light flash so bright that I can just barely see the highway ahead. When I arrive, I realize the sun has followed me down the road, into the city.