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Literature Text
when you buy
a new pair of stockings,
trust blossoms in
a second skin, an
onionskin mask against
stage floors, infidelity, and
car exhaust
I bled through the
knee when I fell, going
down to the flat part
of town. you should
have asked me whether I
always tripped on my way
towards relief, but
you only winced
at the stained rayon.
I fiddled with
a loose thread as I
practiced picking up
the phone, rehearsing
for a play that
would never show
this hosiery full of holes
each one a reason
for the lack of seams
between us
I seemed to wear
you for six glorious weeks
that tangled
and ran, until
we lay discarded
at the foot of my bed, and
forgot what it meant to walk.
a new pair of stockings,
trust blossoms in
a second skin, an
onionskin mask against
stage floors, infidelity, and
car exhaust
I bled through the
knee when I fell, going
down to the flat part
of town. you should
have asked me whether I
always tripped on my way
towards relief, but
you only winced
at the stained rayon.
I fiddled with
a loose thread as I
practiced picking up
the phone, rehearsing
for a play that
would never show
this hosiery full of holes
each one a reason
for the lack of seams
between us
I seemed to wear
you for six glorious weeks
that tangled
and ran, until
we lay discarded
at the foot of my bed, and
forgot what it meant to walk.
Literature
Questions I Never Asked My Grandfather
My grandfather sits in a wheelchair by the window in the old people's home with his chin leaned into his chest, mumbling incessantly and unintelligibly to himself and drooling a little from the right corner of his mouth. Mom can't come here anymore. She just breaks down at the sight of him so I sometimes come by myself and sit with him in silence for a while.
It's a sad end to a long and hard life, and I morbidly think to myself that if a political party stepped forth now with the legalization of euthanasia on its agenda, I'd vote for it. After two strokes and a hemorrhage, topped with severe senile dementia, what is the point of letting peo
Literature
Harvest Moon
You remind me of the harvest moon
tugging the shore from beneath my feet, of
rowing out to sea in winter with empty nets
till spring, of catching every breath
in crystals on the same forgotten docks,
Where gravity knots my tendons into rope,
my teeth into chalk and ash, and my eyes
into searchlights scanning the horizon
for the first ship that leads to you.
Literature
Funeral
Funeral
A funeral was no place to have an epiphany. Epiphanies galvanise people into action and the only action you could get away with in a church pew was discreet fidgeting. Even that was considered unseemly when a heart-felt eulogy was being delivered by the deceased's mother, as Mary was finding out to her discomfort. The priest was beginning to shoot her dirty looks.
But really, as epiphanies went, it was a brilliant one. She couldn't believe she had taken this long to realise it. She was fat. Plain and simple. Mary was much too fat. It explained everything. Her husband had left her for a skinny bitch because she was fat, the universit
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what you guys must think, looking through my gallery. I promise that my life is not really this sad.. maybe that will turn you off reading for good. who knows?
(don't go, please? )
-
NaPo #29
(don't go, please? )
-
NaPo #29
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Comments7
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the wordplay with "seam" and "seem", that's brilliant.