-Sunny Vignettes-
The sun plays doubles on a clay court, while I open. Condensation marches an upheaval- sun closes blinds. Thumbs on antipasto plate scraping crumbs into trash. Sun rafters support only dust, contractors worry. Place the eggs next to the watermelon. Wait, leave them in the basket. Wary of its reflection, sun shatters ocean in disgust. Orders tequila. She wears plaid and is not afraid of overalls. A flat tire and we are baffled by the carjack. Sun dry is tamer than the sundry it sunders. Can’t carry a sun with only crash cymbals. Oak branches crease and fold effulgent origami. Coffee is sun’s shadowself only warming inward. His galoshes and duckprint boxers. +40 Share...
Read More-Textures of Youth-
When I was five, pressing my cheek to things was better than television. I remember the carpet, where I could feel each spring and poke of tan jellyfish fiber. Or an addled metal pole with spots where the paint chips and slowly opens its cold blossoms. Deeper than purple, with a pang like mandarin oranges. I would let car windows turn on their Zambonis and smooth my temples so the all-skate could resume its clockwise tingling. A wooden porch, with its prickle army and long noodle edges. There’s a twisting. It marches to war with pinch banners held high. My mom’s skirt. Hornets and flitting wings. A wooden firmness that heaves– oceanic as she walks. Then there were trees their flaky baked-with-craisins. An occasional baguet, or rooty dumpling. I could get lost in...
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