Aperçus Quarterly 1.3

Melodie BoltThe Science Fiction of Blues within Blue Eyeswith a nod to Frank HerbertAges after the accident he worm-thinks, worm-dreams,folds paper bits with ink squiggles to thump for rain.When it rains, he gets outside,wheels in the wheelchair to the driveto watch worms wriggle from earth to race in soggy gravel.Earth worms, Night Crawlers—great bait, I remember.Inside, he checks the cat’s ass for tape worms,wishes the dog had whip worms.He’s broken hearted for heart worms.He reads his scrapbook’s newspaper cuttings like a bookwormand he talks endlessly of sand worms—Little Makers and Shai Hulud.He sips coffee, stirring in cinnamon and sugar dunes.He wants cinnamon on toast, oatmeal, hotdogs, tacosbecause it’s spice. Not a spice, but the Spice. Melange.He swears his brown eyes will blue and he’ll travel without moving,folding space with his spice-heavy brain.But he doesn’t listen when I say,there are no triathlon races on Arrakis.6