The canvas
I woke and found a large, blank canvas in the middle of the room. I’m not a painter. I don’t own brushes or paint. I jumped out of bed and examined the canvas. Carved on the bottom were the initials, B. W. I thought it over, Blue Wind? Beware Water? Between Wednesday? Because Warhol? Bovine Wilderness? Bee We? Be Weed? Bent Went? Boom Womb? Boo Whoop? Border Without? Blameless Widow? Blip Whip? Bit Wit? Breeze Wheeze? Bought Wrought? Then I looked under the bed and found various brushes and paint. I was excited to paint. But what? I said aloud.
The man and the leaves
A man chased leaves down an urban street. The leaves moved fast. He ran and ran. A young boy stopped him, “Sir, why are you chasing leaves?” “I’m a starving artist, I haven’t eaten in days!” the man said. “Have some oatmeal cookies,” the boy said. “I only eat leaves!” the man said, running down the street. “I only eat leaves!”
José Hernández Díaz is an MFA student at Antioch University-Los Angeles. He earned a BA in English from UC Berkeley. His work has appeared in The Best American Nonrequired Reading, The Progressive, Lumina, Witness, Huizache, Juked, Gigantic Sequins, Hobart, Parcel, The Acentos Review, Whiskey Island, The Los Angeles Review, and others. He has served as an editor for Lunch Ticket and Floricanto Press.