taktil, an online literary journal

Lunch Hour by Heather Wyatt

Entering through the food court,
the smell of seasoned beef and pork
fat thrusts inside my nostrils relentlessly
from the taco place.
Soon, Mongolian beef from the Chinese place,
processed turkey and pork from Dave’s Dogs,|
soft pretzels with mustard, and aging
milk from the ice cream shop marry the smell of tacos
leaving me dizzy. In front me is a fountain filtering
the smell of chlorine, plastic leaves and pennies into my brain.
It spews water carelessly in the middle and greasy,
dirty children run around the edges despite lazy
warnings from tired parents.
An athletic shoe store is wedged between
a cookie shop and the scent
of cinnamon is entrancing.
One dollar earns me a cookie.
An older woman in a wind suit is walking fast up
and down the corridors littered with people
selling lotion, large gold jewelry, cell phones and sunglasses.
After awhile, I realize I have gone completely
around the mall.  Without going into a single store,
I have done a lap around this place full of trinkets,
children, food and yet, I haven’t changed.
My story is still the same, much like this mall,
so I follow the speed-walking woman,
going considerably slower now,
through the food court and out the door.

Reclining Alone One Afternoon by Heather Wyatt

Glittering specks of light
come through the window
and the air is filled
with tiny punctuations
of dust.

I like to observe nature
from the inside.
No feasting mosquitoes,
screaming children,
carpenter bees,

Through the window
I can see it all
in the cool, stale air.


Heather Wyatt currently works in the technical department of a marketing company in Tuscaloosa, AL.  Her work has been published in The Marr's Field Journal, The SDS News Bulletin, Public Republic, and Snakeskin. She also has a forthcoming poetry publication in Stymie Magazine and Broad River Review.  She received her Bachelor’s degree in American Studies from the University of Alabama and her MFA in Poetry from Spalding University in Louisville, KY.