There's the abrasive feeling
of salt in my eyes, now, the stinging and the haunting emptiness of the cessation of sounds, followed by the pounding of raindrops on glass as I drive under bridges on the road to anywhere that is not here. (I am reminded that absence makes the ears ring until the head is heavy)
0 Comments
We're two drunk chickadees
leaving a choke cherry feast: crashing into windows stumbling through branches beating wings rapid. Finding each other, delirious and incoherent, tangled under tree roots in a stranger's yard. I do not find myself on eggshells often -
the hen house has no want for me. But now I find myself on tiptoe, trying not to wake the beast. |
Archives
November 2019
|