popcorn bowl (born of doug utter’s delicate balance) In the tv room painted entirely Forest green one window two panes a portal to the black night and its offering of An even number of 8 stars to share Lillian and Ricky sat down in their same green chairs that matched the walls. Lillian had gone white kitchen recently for resale purposes she Turned, crossed her arms over her lap and presented a farm bowl of popcorn on the empty card table that forever provides a distance of 4 feet between the marriage of two chairs Ricky folded his leg over the opposite knee in his Friday night bright red pants gold and black tie and reached for a claw of buttered starch stirring his pointer finger towards the bottom to find one of them Monterey jack cheese cube surprises that Lillian anchors way down in the bowls of Friday night popcorn. she sinks only 8 cubes to keep Ricky pickin’ after 31 and a half years just when he thought he had settled down on the spongy ridge of a good cheese block the yellow and white kernels exploded out of the ceramic bowl and Ricky retracted his hand looked up and saw Lillian staring at his blue face wearing a planet earth indigo space martian head shield pressure equalized over her entire skull look Ricky was an almost retired chemical engineer for the number 3 Japanese plastic injection molding company in the world he understood 2 things the confluence of science eastern spirituality and a little about women so he paused. and spoke of impermanence, chemical change to Lillian in a calm voice Lillian, this popcorn that might I add we both enjoy was once a hard very small kernel and ok. things got heated. to a certain temperature then it changed, into a new blossom-shaped bite but Lillian dear, once that initial change occurs usually we are good for a while to just enjoy I don’t, but perhaps you understand, how possibly this bowl of our favorite Friday popcorn has suddenl- and his words stopped as the soaring kernels settled down mid-air and grew stems. They became orange yellow cubic flowers like tiger lilies on an edible arrangement but real quick Ricky relaxed his shoulders and Lillian took the globe shield off her head filled it with water plucked one of the flowers and put in this repurposed fish tank vase on the window ledge under those 8 stars and that special big rock see a moon Ricky, aint nothin but a hunk of cheese. Least it’s told so in all the stories to the grandbabies. Ricky boy, there’s your big ol’ cheese cube sweetie. It hung mid orbit in the corner of the top pane and she walked back to her chair arms crossed on her lap and declared are you angry with me and Ricky said you are so alive. How could I be angry with you and Lillian said I am so happy. Ryan Rowland Ryan Rowland lives and writes in Cleveland, Ohio. His work has been featured by Ornery Quarterly and is forthcoming from Heavy Feather Review this fall. He is a founding member of good word cleveland, a collective of emerging writers.
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The Ekphrastic Review
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April 2021
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