we
twine by feelings, to have cost, or something with motors; to adore a woman, made
attentive, while it wasn’t much helium; or to postmark concrete, a bit of graffiti,
while I placed self in an envelope. the mail was late, flowers were wrestling,
or parachutes weren’t opening; but sullen smiles, or gathered tears, while I purchased
holiday balloons. Love was studying. I was in the living room. when it hit like
Hawaii waves. I asked, if? she responded with, “Yes.” we continued with our
grayness. I had adored knitting, at such a young age, but I have now forgotten.
crocheting is fun, academia is invocative, while angles cut to slice
consciousness. I called UPS, boxed myself, and waited on the porch. I was sent
to purgatory. I saw father. mother had been relocated. I took a trip nearby,
and there she was. such raw negotiations, plus, grandmother laughing, even here
her spirit is schizophrenic. I think to
our incompleteness—wondering about our fears—where it’s pain to be recognized;
such digestive, palms-out, or nails in, sorrow. it was like life to meet her.
by far a sexual creature—putting her affairs in order: cocky or high-minded,
career oriented, plus, a husband by age twenty-seven: a child, a family, plus,
close to a hundred-grand for cushion. these components, so attractive to us
all, where most of us try harder when it becomes more beauty.
