Spinner II We don’t know why she is sleeping or how long she will. We don’t know if she dreams or if her body will age. But mother remains. She sits at Rosewater’s bedside with a thousand thick threads under her hand. The loom thunks dully and her daughter’s breath comes out in a huff. She weaves the thread into bolts of pale silk, the shape and color of Rosewater. Measuring the woven cloth against her daughter’s body. Gently caressing her daughter’s chest with her ear. To feel the rise and fall of her ribs, to reuse an ageless breath. And so she weaves faster, the spinner thunks dully. An arm is already woven, a hand and all its fingers. The scar on her right thigh, a left leg, an ear, the bend in a knee. A second skin that will never wrinkle or fold. Protected from all the hands caked with jam and dirt that reach out to stroke her. The thought of Rosewater’s flesh becoming stained. Mother works tenderly and firmly. Wake or say I love you. Wake and say I love you. No one stays a child forever. Hush, Mother says, I need to concentrate.
02/09/2014 He tapped his fingers against the closed fist of his other hand. His fingers landing in the space between his knuckles, making a loud clacking noise. The two exchange keys for the bathroom, their fingers lightly touching as germs pass from one pointer to another. She holds the bottom of her book, eyes scanning, lips moving slowing across the page as her pencil follows suit. "I'm kind of impressed with myself, not gonna lie" she said, clicking on the flag button that made a dinging sound.
02/09/2014 In Class Scenes 1) “This is hard,” she said, hand clasped over heart -- a silent pledge of allegiance. Her fingers crawled up her chest toward her throat, where she gripped her aorta with her thumb and finger. Searching, searching for a pulse. Her fingers lurched towards her wrist and she held her breath to find absolute quiet. “This is hard,” she said again. “You do not have a pulse,” a tiny voice whispered.
2) A strange floating eyeball followed Annabelle everywhere she went, hanging back twenty feet or so every time she sat down in a chair, coming closer with the quickening of her step. She’d run and sit in chairs to change outfits – a scarf to cover her dark skin, a hood to shroud her hair. To confuse the lurking eye. Yet it was never deterred. When she stood up, it floated and followed – a strange orb with a dark black pupil, swiveling like an eye that had just been plucked out of a head.
3) Seinfeld played on the television like any other Monday night and Yvonne sat directly in front of the tv – nose touching the screen. Just a quick hello from Jerry to any other character had her laughing. Not laughing, but roaring. She heaved and gasped for air, so much so that mother had to bring an oxygen tank in to supplement the perfectly fine oxygen that wafted through the space of our living room. The tubes inserted in her nose, she’d suck hard for air, her eyes opening wide like a doll being squeezed around its waist. And then she’d relax, nose touching the screen once again, cackling as Elaine castigated Jerry for being a man once again.
02/03/2014 Spinner I stuck my head in a drug store refrigerator to catch my cool. Pressed my limbs against the frozen food aisle. And wished for air conditioning to leak from apartment lobbies onto the street. And in this instance, summer became about chasing the wind. About spreading my body as wide as possible to be tapped by the far gone essence of a Tasmanian devil. And so I screamed: Spinner of wind, breathe out a sigh of relief or point me to the nearest glass of ice water. And if not, I shall continue to move in slow motion. Arms stretched out, fingers pointed. Searching, chasing, searching for the wind.
Viaduct! Vianochicken?!
Dear Big Sweetie Pie,
Thank you for returning Gravity to us. And not a moment too soon as we four were constantly floating up to the ceiling and having to fight our way back to the floor. With Gravity restored, life can return to normal. Except that you have been replaced by a dog, an adequate but ultimately paltry substitute for a girl like you.
I LOVE the little mug and plan to drink all my beverages from it, including cappuccino!
You're very sweet and thoughtful to include a gift and a card and I love you very much.
Morning Breath I woke up this morning and my bathroom smelled like kabob. I entered the musk to investigate the source and lying prostrate in the trashcan was an uneaten slab of petrifying meat, adorned with hard kernels of yellow rice. It masked the smell of morning breath, so I left it there.