nannan
We had them for months at a time when the oil furnace in the old Birch house barely heated a four rung radius on the radiator.
A pen, a point, a weapon, a q word for scrabble or a poem to rhyme with will or nil.
Soft power.
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.
load more entries