Here. He. Comes. Puerile man. We should laugh in his face. Keen ears. Echoes of centuries of atrocities. His comic eloquence, we know…But more dangerous the lapping, converging audience. For behind the shadows, grimy shovel in hand, our prejudices so crudely stoked. And we can no longer afford his jokes.
Vicky has never ever really been a sister, but more a mother, a mother I don’t think even she remembers. It happened a long, long time ago. A curse upon our house some’d say. Fathers eat sour grapes. Set the children’s teeth on edge. But what did mother eat? Vicky told me once, she toldContinue reading “Sis”
I drove 25 miles back home, showered, went back to bed. A splitting headache. 9:30am. The pillow, the blanket, the sheets, my own exhaustion cradling me. Woke up again at 11am from what felt like the longest sleep. Restless. Looked out the window. The leafless trees. The east where morning first rose from purple silence.Continue reading “November 13th”
The night stood like a mirror before my eyes. Showed me the errors of my ways. Showed me my deepest, darkest fears. And when the dawn light kissed the roof, So, so happy was I.