Three prose poems by Robert Scotellaro

Three prose poems
by Robert Scotellaro

Skinny Dreams

After her husband dies, she pins her kids to the clothesline and serves the laundry dinner. Franks and beans. Says, without looking up, to a wrinkled pair of Levis: "Quit playing with your food."

At night, the votive candles waver in her bedroom—the shadows they make; the only ones dancing. When she sleeps, she dreams skinny dreams. A skeleton which leaves its body in a puddle and goes to the mall. Every shop, trying on clothes—feathered hats, retro pinafores, silky gowns. Clacking about, this way and that, in front of the mirrors. The hats falling down to its chin, the dresses around its ankles.

The perfume sprays it finds on glass counters (a scent of funeral flowers)—the only thing that clings to the bone. The only thing that fits.

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Safety Paper

When everything else failed, she constructed a world in origami art. Fold into fold at every angle. The paper dog which shook its head when you pulled its tail, the booze bottles filled with confetti. Even her dreams; mathematically balanced—hand-pressed and smoothed. A bed, high up, with creases sharp as military trousers—the folded men, with accordion flares to their biceps, that filled it. Each morning: a fresh stack—crumpling her work from the night before.

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The Sad Marriage of Metaphor and Mirage


Metaphor took his wife, Mirage, for a ride in his Cadillac through a dark tunnel beneath the river. But when he lit a match and turned to look at her he saw, in the wavering light, a battered baby carriage smoldering on the seat next to him.

"What gives?" he said, as he exited, lighting a tightly wrapped Cuban and pointing the fiery end at her. "You're not starting up with that "baby thing" again are you?" And when he glanced over at her this time, he saw a basket of his favorite pastries lying on the seat.

"Of course not," she said, staring out the window.

He reached over and grabbed up a handful of air and put it in his mouth, began chewing.

"Good," he said.

Author bio:

Robert Scotellaro's short fiction and poetry appear or are forthcoming in: Clockwise Cat, Dogzplot, Willows Wept Review, mud luscious, Ghoti, 971 Menu, Fastforward (A Collection of Flash Fiction), The Laurel Review, Storyscape, Battered Suitcase, Red Rock Review, Macmillan collections and others. He is the author of several literary chapbooks, two books of poetry, and the recipient of Zone 3’s Rainmaker Award in Poetry. Born and raised in Manhattan, he currently lives in California with his wife and daughter.