Richard L. Matta
Richard L. Matta is originally from New York’s Hudson Valley and now lives in San Diego, California. A former forensic scientist, he’s now active volunteering at theatre events, and spending time on or near the ocean with his golden-doodle dog. Some of his work is published in Third Wednesday, Healing Muse, Eclectica, and Hole in the Head Review.
Summer Break Abecedarian
Alone at the kitchen table at break of dawn his
barrel torso brushes the table’s glass edge. He’s
cut like marble, his arms ripples of fur. The slow
dance of the silent steadfastly prepares his fried
eggs and two tamales. Another stiff black coffee
for the jackhammer sales pitches ahead, and to for-
get yesterday’s single malts, nudge the clouds away.
How relief abounds when he’s too busy sweating.
It’s her pharmacy degree at work. It’s allowed here.
Jalapenos make him merciful, and yet his questions
kick down my privacy please door about life and
love and am I studying as hard as I can and treating
mother with respect. I watch as beads form on his
noggin as he gulps another hot pepper. She’s still
orbiting in the kitchen and smiles because today’s
payday. An envelope for the week’s expenses as I
question in my mind the intricacies of finances,
remember his turnip face when I asked about their
schooling, her salutatorian speech. The day will
turn when he leaves. The heavy fog will lift, the
untethered kite forms sky smiles. There’s a form
of victory in waiting for Scoville units to neutralize
the scotch. I’m a chemistry buffer while here. I’d
xerox myself if I could, but she reminds me again
your life will not be perfect either. Plan on it.
Zigzags rather than straight paths. Look for petals.
