nannan
I don’t like them. But they are beautiful to look at and don’t look even remotely edible. They’re shiny and have delicious shapes more like fairy houses for gypsy fairies or Luna moths or artist studios for bees who don’t really need studios. That’s what the garden is for.
Is there anything smaller than the thoughts you might have of that day it was a Tuesday and I walked past you and your backpack heaved like a sigh above my shoulder and we parted for the last time.
You sought a different life outside the brick walls of the tenement that folded over you like an envelope not to be opened until it reached its destination. You were swept along the skies beyond the borders drawn in chalk like the outline of along removed corpse no one could remember or cared to try.
When it begins to tingle I think my brain is oozing out. It wants to get away from the scary thoughts my ears and eyes are writing in bold letters.
Guinness was our first dog and that was when I learned how to become dogmatic where before that I thought dogma was just a pasta you ate with a very acidic sauce and perhaps little green tight wads floating on top but Guinness changed all that for me and I'll always love her for making me so smart.
I don't know how it began or with whom but now they are everywhere I look and I begin to wonder who is collecting whom .
I didn't know how to get the stories out of my head or how to get them back in so I made up my mind and they theirs to stop hiding from one another and drive along in silence or with the radio blaring and only stop for pie and ice cream.
I'm startled by your presence now that I've grown accustomed to your absence, yet still in the middle of cleaning out my closet and breathing dust like perfume I swoon and you catch me from hitting the floor and looking round I'm alone.
She has weathered the months since he died but at great cost, barely able to move along to the hospital where her daughter lies not seeing anyone but the ghostly image in the mirror that won't let go its grip on her features smooth and shining, unused, unweathered, blank.
If only she hadn't told me I must do it then everything would have unfolded as we all wanted it to and its such a tiny word with a delicious beginning and us in the middle with just a cup of tea to polish it off, and yet? I don't know, I really must stop thinking about it. I must.
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