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. . .
-
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....
-
strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
-
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...
-
The one day that I am home sick is the one day that everyone goes on a balloon ride. Just my luck. You know, it's funny how they always ...
-
My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
-
hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
-
Though it hasn't been months since I have written and attempted edits within my memoir, it has been quite some time since I have reflect...
-
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...
-
motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...

No comments:
Post a Comment