Eisele Cunningham

Monday Mornings

What Love Can Do

I’ve seen what love can do to people

And it’s scary

It worries us

It hurts

We believe we can domestic it

And that makes us insane

We can try to be alone but it rests between each loll

I’ve seen what love can do

And if I could I’d rather have nothing to do with it

We lose our appetite for food and even conversation

Our tears begin to burn

And focus is completely lost

We think love is a game but it only plays us

Still, it’s cyclical.

The wanting to fall.

I’ve seen what love can turn people into

And I fear I’m running into my nightmares

Getting older equals

Accepting anything… settling.

Never knew good love

So we accept familiarity

And if you’re alone

Realizing you’re beautiful can be the hardest thing actually worth accepting



Drawing by, Edith Nguyen.

I’m certain there’s a story that follows this boy. There’s always something that gives the observer a clue to questions at hand: Why does he walk a particular way, why he enjoys the music that he does, or how he chooses the food he eats— Parents… they often do love their children, but did they love him enough?

I could not tell you, I am not the creator here.

But I know that he’s looking for something he might have lost in his past.


He has his back turned to me.

Home (Pt. 3)

I started packing immediately

I sweat

I watched out the window

My best was stunned

I only knew to move quickly

A truck, like a horseman from hell came burning down the street

It wasn’t B’s car so we had more time

But, the car stopped and B jumps out of the passenger seat…


Garage door opened

Footsteps down a hallway, that in the moment seemed so long

He came in yelling at me

Telling me: you need to leave

I completely understood

It’s his family he was attempting to save

Three days there

Just three days

And I had to leave

He told me to get out, called me manipulative and called me a drunk

I looked over that- it wasn’t true

I just didn’t want him mad at his wife, my best friend I mean we’ve been– just that for years.

Packed my bags, slowly, maybe he’ll change his mind, but he’s a real man’s man a thought only needs takes one lap

I’m out the door began to walk

Where do I go now?

Call… Mom.

Home (Pt. 2)

Friday came and went. I could bore you with the details but that would just be cheap.


Her and I mostly sat on the couch, watched a series of children shows, the news and horror films. We talked a lot and at some point we each cried for our own very personal reasons.


Saturday, sadly with a good time

trouble came.

To the closest liquor store

A bottle of wine,

A bottle of vodka…

One more bottle of wine, why not!?

It’s been ages since I’ve seen my very best!

Back to the house,

Turn on the radio,

Turn up volume— all the way up!

I began to sing,

She danced.

This was 1 or 2 maybe 5 shots later and the chaser was that sweet wine.

We talked,

We talked,

She tired.

I danced.

We drank some more…

I put her to bed.

I cleaned up as she asked.

Provocation: rid the house of any and all evidence.

B hates it when we drink.

I blacked out in bed.

I heard the door open, my best walked in, slowly.

I had begun to ask,

“Is everything thing-“

Tears in my best’s eyes.

“We have to go…” she sobs. Then continues, “B knows…”

Home (Pt. 1)

Ironic, huh?… the word home?

I only “Moved in” on a Thursday afternoon.

That’s after my best was two hours late picking me up from the depot.

A one and half hour drive back to her home.

All the while I was acting strong and she didn’t want to trigger anything that could have caused me upset.

Pulled into her driveway — Parked.

Walked into the house and thanked my best friend for being my savior!

A shower and laundry were my first priorities.

I never thought I’d be so excited to have warm water and scented soaps rush over my naked body.

After completing both.

I asked to be taken to the local grocer…

I wanted to cook, my way of saying thanks! But B, her husband is quite meticulous, he’d rather not have anyone touch his stove…

Things were a tad awkward but, I over looked those feelings.

I assumed it was just my over active imagination, I mean I haven’t seen them in 3 years.

On My Way Home (Pt. 8)

Time to board…


The tedious tasks of:

  1. Boarding passes out
  2. Let us look inside your bag (no drugs, no alcohol, no pets.)
  3. Priority to the front.

I was fine where I was in line although I did have priority seating but, to show off the poorest form of ostentation. I didn’t have it in me.

We’re all on a bus for god-sakes!

And there were no new passengers boarding and we are all comfortable where we were seated and I wasn’t gonna leave my new friend, tipsy and feeling sick in the back of a line that moved so slowly-

But I had to get serious.

I’m almost home

And I wondered, ‘Where am I going to stay?’

Called my best…

On My Way Home (Pt. 7)




I could see the salivary glads active in her mouth


Seat beat off


The bus has stopped, I quickly got myself out of her way.

She didn’t even stop for a cigarette.

I followed her, with much haste to a podunk mom and pop chicken spot where she was edgar to order… Everything!

The chicken was quite good, fried and all.

The mac and cheese I requested as my side was-

Oh look they also sale beer– I saw.

She was just as excited as I was.

We’ve been on this dry, cold bus for hours too long

Well we can’t bring it aboard I said

She says we’d just have to drink it fast

I got the 32oz something she thought she’d do the same

We were giggling like girls smoking behind our school’s equipment shed nervous and feeling proud we haven’t been caught.

I took my time

Out of fear she swallowed hers down in what seemed like a single gulp

And it came back up just as quickly


(I promised her I wouldn’t write about this)

On My Way Home (Pt. 6)


Twenty-three… thirty odd hours have passed since I’d met the girl who gave me the sandwich.

We had become quite close;

So close we shared a pair of seats.

(But only once the coach became too full.)

“I’m hungry.” She said abruptly with notes of anger.

‘We all are,’ I thought as I sat back and mulled over a more appropriate response to her apoplectic demeanor:

“We have just under 30miles ahead of us, wanna watch a movie with me?”

I asked with hope.

“No.” She dryly replied.

My attempted diversion failed. Try again… why not?

Tulsa(where the girl with the sandwiches was from. Or so I thought)… what’s there to do for kicks there.” I asked

“I’m not from Tulsa…” she said.

“Where are you from?” I asked, confused.

“Settle.” She replied.

I paused. Because at the inception of our acquaintanceship she told me this. But instead of arguing, I thought I’d say something charming, so she’ll forget how insensitive my forgetting was.

“Ah… Seattle: The Windy City.” I said.

Aha! A smile, small laugh.

Difficult to execute when thinking you might die of starvation.

On My Way Home (Pt. 5)

65 hours on a bus

Returning to where the sun rises

5 layovers

Lots of wasted time

Little food

No shower

Can’t wait to take these clothes off

The scenery is lovely

The white lines on the road gave me a fever

There was a women to my side who continually turned to smile at me

Both the man seated in front and opposite to be were just released from county—

Is that an open seat!?

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