-Vernal Picket Line Shenanigans-
Watercoolers had a protest today filibustering my spring windowfiction. Rubbermaid stole the megaphone and made loud chillhood memories so I couldn’t hear the breeze. It seems plant sex was too risqué. Pollen a bill before its time. I had just dusted off Robert’s Rules of Shorts Wearing. And we are annealed. I can barely remember being molten and anyshape. Ready to pour. I had printed leaflets, ready to drop their flowers and sway in the trees. Somewhere across the street I could see you mouthing: Fibrous and flint for picnics! But I am awful at lip reading, and cold fronts kept blocking my line of sight. At any rate, we wanted out of there. Together we could bloom radiators. Stretch out our metal coils and convect. 00 Be the 1st to vote.Share...
Read More-Coiled-
Like the field-of-vew wobble you get by rotating a coke bottle. But not blurry. Just tinted and gyrating. It is a beginning of the day smell that tugs well past 4pm. And the trees just opened a box of doughnuts. The sprinkles cross-pollinated with the frosted and jelly-filled. The lid got all mashy. Someone has powdered sugar stuck on their fingers. And there is a three year old twisting. Ready to fly as soon as enough tension builds in her mother’s arm. Maybe that’s what they mean by Spring. That uncomfortable, almost let go already. While mom is still tisking and settle down will ya? We have to cross the street. But it is the not-crossed street that is the problem. It’s before coffee, and thus too soon. At the same time, coffee already brewed, burning in the...
Read More-Notes From Any Committee-
But our memories are like our hands. Jammed in pockets, fidgety. Empty more often than …where did I put my pen? Phalanges protrude only so far from our palms. We can’t reach so, we ball our crocuses until our wrists turn blotchy. We unclench snow. It is like we had to scratch a thaw and instead we fondled distractedly all along. There, on the table is the frenetic Sun: Like a one-dimensional trope in a poem that mentions seasons. It has said only half a sent… and the chairs squeak, they all lean back and didder. Some folded, some grab handkerchiefs, adjust glasses, pick noses. The meeting is over. Mittens are warmer, but they say gloves give you more motion. The wind applauds and slaps. We have made progress: I found my pen. 0-1 Share...
Read More-Willful Unsprung Strolling-
The trail is still ice. We have all thawed, and are thinking about shorts. But under the trees by the stream where everyone expects spring to meet them like an old friend at an airport; there it is still a wintry mud. The trail won’t put down her bags or even lift her arms when we give her a hug. We all go in for it anyway, we want to walk in the woods. To carry spring’s things and put her up for the night while she gets settled in town. We are resolute because it is fifty degrees. This means it is time. We say things about how nice it is out, and then go sliding and tripping. Yet, she doesn’t laugh at our jokes, and all the pauses are awkward. We slosh. We look at the geese. Watch our feet and put our arms out at frictionless angles. It is time for this ice to...
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