But there are a sort of Saints meet to be your companions...but
that they be concealed. My
desire to unseal them makes
me sleepy. The eyelid is a drive-in, my body the car into which an old
cord winds. Keep windows open to receive
the
dented sound. I'm
down to words, the ones that float like feathers after bird-storms.
A small
bundle of curly hair in the bathroom means my husband cut his hair.
Phone call means
a colleague died. After
long sickness, a sudden fall. I pick up the taut curls, deposit them
in the trash. I put the phone
down, scratch a kitten, try
to summon his voice.
--23 May 2015
2 comments:
Oh, the juxtaposition of the husband's freshly cut hair and the colleague who's died/trying to remember the voice - so good. Penis-shaped noses & green men leads me astray. Remember to keep your Safe Search on, I guess. ;)
Sad, & yes, the juxtaposition of Bryant's hair & the colleague's fall is just really touching (that's when you need a kitten, of course). Most of the connections are great but why does a cord lead into a car?
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