non/fiction and poetry
I have a vision of an insect coming across the giant strawberry in the sink late at night and nibbling at it until it is a massive, monstrous creature moving around my house, two legs at a time, leaving indentations in the carpet with its huge, heavy feet.
“Yeah, I got knocked up when I was nine, but I’m one hell of a soccer mom!” I can’t even drive yet. I would have to hire a minivan. The absurdity of this makes me laugh out loud, in “Miss Carol’s” blonde, neck-less face, and she pulls her features back into their fatty cushion, offended. I have a mouthful of turkey.
Benjamin, who had taken his shoes off the first time I asked, sat with his tiny legs crossed neatly on the carpet and sorted through his backpack. I could see how his hands did what he wanted and flipped papers over for his eyes to inspect. I saw that he could recognize right and wrong and proceed accordingly. Proceed quickly. Xander looked at the wall.
Draped over his spaceship
He has worn a dent in the cushions of my rockingchair
And consoles my adopted window frame
With tiny thumbprints I cannot erase
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