Adriana.K.Maxwell
Circling around the sun like children around a campfire, ancient philosophers used to dream of the celestial music that keeps them twirling
Sky blanket above me, protecting me from empty cold blackness, airplanes writing a temporary existence in wispy lines
Deep, deep, down in the underground where all living things reach, tree roots twisted, rabbits in burrows, men sinking down concrete for their houses to sit on and digging tunnels to find shiny rocks
Air is cold today, still with the whisper of snow. I can see my own floating away from me in puffs and tiny clouds.
Drink deep, water tastes best in the palm of your hand, gulped greedily from the bathroom sink, when you are too thirsty to look for a cup, come up and stare in the mirror, face wet, panting
Food is a sign of family and friends. "Mangan tayo!" was the first thing I learned in a foreign country, along with rice sticking to fingers and banana tree trunk plates passed throughout the village.
I want vegetables. I want salad. But can I eat it all before it goes limp in my fridge? When did I start treating fresh food as a luxury? I have the money but sometimes it is hard to eat alone, especially with an unknown expiration date.
The fruit hangs low, heavy on the branch. The wasp crawls on it, antennae twitching, looking for an opening, for food before the big freeze.
Grass grows always, through cracks in sidewalk and roads, under Roman chariots, after fire, grass grows, roots stretching deep and connecting under each other like holding hands
Pulling up from the ground, a pillar to hold the sky billowing like a cheap tent above it, skin scarred into armored scales, twisting to the sun
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