Sirens // Tina Cane
I.
I’ve been meaning to tell you that the skin around her eyes was thin
with blue veins fanning out like ferns that she was pale for a Puerto Rican
and that she spit and threw change at my feet as I waited to cross the street
to tell you that I wouldn’t let her man take me for hot dogs at the Second Avenue Deli
or to Jade Mountain for pork fried rice that I knew what a hat like that meant
to say his diamond crucifix the way he swayed his coat flicked sunflower seeds
from between his teeth strutting behind the line of parked cars I’ve been meaning
to tell you that the parking lot on the corner was not always a dorm that once I saw her
bloodied and on her back beside a car that two kids laughed pulling rings off her fingers
as she squinted in the sun that I put my backpack on both shoulders readied my key
that I ran from the sound of the sirens
II.
To tell you my dad drove a cab for forty years kept a red bean he got
from an Ethiopian guy in the back pocket of his Levi’s to ward off hemorrhoids
that he wrote me notes throughout the night on the margins of his fare sheet stuff
like “eat yogurt for osteoporosis” that he listened to Tosca for another life in which
he didn’t have his foot on any pedal didn’t ever have to chase a punkass kid to get his
money back then end up buying the kid a sandwich to tell you that he was a Jewish guy
from Brooklyn what the fuck he’d pound the wheel cut off cut short another Brooklyn
fare not going back there with no return trip over the bridge to tell you that he drove
like a pro back when the medallion itself was a thing of beauty deco-like clicking
its nickel intervals with approximate precision the weight of it enough to crush
just about anything
III.
I’ve been meaning to tell you that my mother and father once fought
for fifty hours straight in our basement apartment off Second Avenue
that the table fan was set to oscillate as they worked their way through
recriminations cups of coffee a carton of Marlboros that my mother
tossed a day’s worth of meals into her flashing wok at hasty intervals
as my father paced the room been meaning to tell you that the girls
on the block scraped pavement in their platform shoes like weights just outside
our one gated window that we often heard Peaches the transvestite weeping
about a Hasid john from Delancey Street or a guy from Staten Island who liked
to rip out her hair meaning to tell you that they made the movie Taxi Driver
right around the corner the year before that I thought my dad might have been in it
since he drove a cab had also been an actor was once a bartender down on Bleecker St.
that he said I was too young to see such a film and about Saturday Night Fever
my mother said definitely not
IV.
That there was a Nordic Track bought in 1996 still in its box
blocking the way to the coat rack on which my dad hung his London Fog
$3,000 in its pocket for me to collect as he had requested from his hospital bed plus stacks of cash
from the safe deposit box from under his mattress and the Polly-O Ricotta container in the freezer
beside the Eddy’s Light Ice Cream and empty ice tray been meaning to tell you there was $30,000
in my purse by the end of the day to tell you that I tried to buy a giant stuffed peacock from a shop
on Christopher St. the day he died but ended up lugging a duffel bag of twenties to Greenwood
Cemetery instead to purchase a plot for him on the hillI’ve been meaning to tell you that cash
is how a cabbie’s daughter pays her father’s bills to tell you there was a wall of books by his bed
a broken shutter on a split hinge piles of newspaper clippings to be filed per a system that didn’t exist
that he left his hack license on the bed-stand with the pocket knife we gave him the carnelian ring
the paper birthday crown my children made and made him wear buried in plush animals on the carpet
in their room that there was a rucksack of photos and mementos from his old friend Wallach
when my dad cleared out his place but never had the wake to tell you that he never
even opened the bag after humping it up the stairs just talked to Wallach in his head
every day till the end about the girl in those photos about articles he should have read
(via Tupelo Quarterly)
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Welcome to the photo dump for Episode 170.5: Listener Stories #25!
This is the episode where our Haunties (aka listeners) write in with their first-person spooky tales of cryptids, ghosts, curses, aliens, and more! Listener stories from this week’s episode include: a funeral ghost, a tarot reading from beyond, a crouched sleep demon that resembles the girl from The Ring, a grinch hand coming out of a closet, mirror portals, accidentally phasing into an alternate dimension for a year, shadow people with crow voices, a haunted jail hostel, lucid dreaming with a Bangungot, a salon ghost, and a spirit caught in a .gif. Some of the listeners whose stories are featured in this episode include: Justin S., Alanna “A.J.” S., Brett C., Charlotte S., Izzy P, Matt L., Carolina P., Nancy aka “NSA”, Joshua S., & Genevieve F.!
Scroll through this photo dump to see key images from this week’s episode!
IMAGE 01: WELCOME TO OUR FIRST LISTENER STORY OF THE YEAR!!! This one’s a doozy, with Nat freaking herself out and Aly spiraling per usual.
IMAGE 02: The Triskele or Triskelion is a mesmerizing symbol formed by three interlocking spirals connected in the center. The design is deeply rooted in Celtic culture, and has many meanings. This is the symbol referenced in the story from Alanna aka “AJ” who told the story of the time she switched dimensions for a year.
IMAGE 03: Image from the haunted Ottawa Jail Hostel that listener Charlotte stayed in.
IMAGE 04: Image #2 of the haunted Ottawa Jail Hostel
IMAGE 05: Image #3 of the haunted Ottawa Jail Hostel
IMAGE 06: Image #4 of the haunted Ottawa Jail Hostel
IMAGE 07: Image #5 of the haunted Ottawa Jail Hostel
IMAGE 08: The bangungot, referenced in the e-mail from Joshua S.
IMAGE 09: Another image of a bangungot
IMAGE 10: The ghost of Greenwood Cemetery, as captured in an iPhone gif by listener Genevieve F.
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The Haunted 1000 Steps at Greenwood Cemetery
According to local legend, the staircase at the Greenwood Cemetery in Spokane, Washington is more than just a little haunted. If you walk up the stairs without any lights on, you will see the faces of men, women and children when you reach the top. Those brave enough to climb the stairs will also hear the shrieks and cries of the dead and they will feel something to rain on their skin.
Supposedly the site of satanic rituals, the staircase was dubbed 1000 steps because nobody can make it to the top according to the legend. The stairs lead from the side of an access road up to the cemetery. Renovations made years ago have rendered the staircase unnecessary and it sits decaying and rarely used by standard visitors stopping to spend time with the cemetery’s residents.
A second tale about the staircase leads people to believe the steps once led to a tunnel entrance. Though this isn’t true, it’s easy to see why people who simply drive by the cemetery might think as such. There’s a large mausoleum at the top of the stairs in disrepair that, from a distance and looking through overgrowth, could appear to be a bricked-over tunnel entrance.
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