amyleigh
He said to write about one thing you carry in your backpack.
My toothbrush. Usually wrapped in a napkin from whatever
restaurant or house I was at last.
What does that say about me?
I am not sure I care to know.
I also carry books.
And pens.
Whatever. I carry a toothbrush in my backpack.
things changed before
mountains and water
everything swallowed
the bones
there was skin once
hard and rough as elephant hide
nothing was too much no teeth too
sharp
eating and sleeping was simple
hiding was key
we are drinking orange juice in the front of the pickup
dad's pumping gas
and there is an old indian man glaring through
the dirty windshield at us
the straw breaks
and orange juice runs down my
fingers
the smell of gasoline
had about enough of the purple line running across the screen and the goddamn kids always slamming the door and the neighbors with their chahchchahchcha the music oh sure he talked about working the ice stand but what good is a worker who don't know how to wear a belt my mother told me we all talked about how this would go
how are you gonna give me the same word two days in a row?
the vitamin bottle smashes in the bathroom
she pulls at her ten page paper like it is taffy
the books we read
the woman with a dirty
raincoat in the bookstore
writing since 2011 · 8 entries · 7 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Amy showed up.
3longest streak
7days written
1.1entries / week
the words Amy reaches for
carrybooksdirtydoorsuretalkedorangejuicesimplewrappedhigherbackpacktoothbrushwhateverwordsmouth