my lips feel soft. I finally scraped all the dead skin off with my teeth.
my jaw is swollen, on my right fist is a burn mark and the black dog always barks low when someone rounds the corner.
somewhere in the stirring and rushing world, among the yucca in the sand and the skyscrapers along the river, like the muddy pools in the ditches between the interstate, or the quiet face of a rock where i sat, looking out at it all...
I would like to think there are places for me.
It is wide and complex, and possibly always non existent to a degree. however, in the midst of my broken bones and frantic mind and dizzy equilibrium, things want to be as simple as the dream of driving around a mountain at sundown, or a caramel and chocolate colored dog running in a windstorm, chasing raindrops.
But here i am, on a Thursday afternoon, waiting for the sun to show it’s face between white puffs and grace my bare arm.
Here i am, curled up in my mother’s recliner and spying on neighbor’s comings and goings between sips of lukewarm cherry cola.
Here i am, thinking about how i keep forgetting to water my plants and the clock on the wall keeps steady competition with the one by the door and the only other sound is a lone fly accidentally running into the picture window.
Do you know that sound? That quiet tap? Of accidents and miscalculation.
I think that i would very much like to move, or just move on. But the answer, or rather the question, is not as simple as that.
my jaw is swollen, on my right fist is a burn mark and the black dog always barks low when someone rounds the corner.
somewhere in the stirring and rushing world, among the yucca in the sand and the skyscrapers along the river, like the muddy pools in the ditches between the interstate, or the quiet face of a rock where i sat, looking out at it all...
I would like to think there are places for me.
It is wide and complex, and possibly always non existent to a degree. however, in the midst of my broken bones and frantic mind and dizzy equilibrium, things want to be as simple as the dream of driving around a mountain at sundown, or a caramel and chocolate colored dog running in a windstorm, chasing raindrops.
But here i am, on a Thursday afternoon, waiting for the sun to show it’s face between white puffs and grace my bare arm.
Here i am, curled up in my mother’s recliner and spying on neighbor’s comings and goings between sips of lukewarm cherry cola.
Here i am, thinking about how i keep forgetting to water my plants and the clock on the wall keeps steady competition with the one by the door and the only other sound is a lone fly accidentally running into the picture window.
Do you know that sound? That quiet tap? Of accidents and miscalculation.
I think that i would very much like to move, or just move on. But the answer, or rather the question, is not as simple as that.
You are words themself! I loved the line about the chapped lips and the dog chasing rain. Your words are my favorite. Please never stop writing like you do. <3
ReplyDeletewow my throat. it kind of hurts. because this clanked around on its way down and left some bruises that taste like honey and honest toast. i get ya. nothing i say seems to fit well enough, but this is what i needed even if hard to swallow. x
ReplyDeleteyou evoke the most vivid pictures with your words and i always love that.
ReplyDelete