Saturday, January 5, 2013

(I cling to the seat and scream lava)

Swinging, my childhood friend and I jump-- and land in Mars. My younger brother was allowed to come, but only sometimes.

I have rearranged the plants. The lamp survived the guests. The chemical-free deodorant was inordinately expensive, though the organic walnuts cost less than in comparable stores.

Tomorrow I will buy new pants. I will care about where they were made and how but in the end I will probably buy the pair that's cheapest. That morality should be anything but easy. The old wizard nods, winks, evaporates into the night.

Porcupine quills protrude from the vase shaped by his clay-slicked hands. He prepares at night, for the morning.

If I forget what I have written it's because he has sliced through his fingernail with the bread knife. The tires list threateningly toward the couch; I cling to the seat and scream lava.

She walked down the street, carefully, and into the alley. Every morning at least three rats and one man leering at her, keys slipped between her fingers like brass knuckles at her side. 

Once a man followed her through an empty park at night. He advanced and she said, NO over her shoulder, meaning it, NO. She walked faster but not so fast as for him to think she was scared and she flexed her fists but not so much that he would anticipate the threat and she tried to emanate this energy from her body if you touch me I will destroy you.

Eventually he gave up and she walked back home and after taking off her coat and pouring boiling water into a mug she stood by the kitchen counter staring lifting the tea bag in and out of the water.

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