Wednesday, May 16, 2012
mittens
where are my garden gloves to weed out your evils?
where are my rubber gloves to scrub off your stupid?
where are my surgical gloves to cut out your hard heart?
where are my boxing gloves to smash your face in?
I am just mittens, limp, fingerless and all thumbs.
opposable but disposable, could be permissible,
but just dismissible-you don't remember anything
even though you were there.
and I am just mittens-laid out, laid off, laid on, imposable.
intricate thread patterns meant to envelope sweet silky hands
with very little muscle.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
-
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
-
there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
-
RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
-
hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
-
lean in a little. say it like it's a secret. make your breath sound like italics. click your tongue against the roof your mouth then you...
-
strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
-
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across but...
-
I was just awarded the Stylish Blogger Award! (awarded by John Evans ) I was asked to write 7 things about myself,and to award 10 ot...
No comments:
Post a Comment