Saturday, November 10, 2012

A Way of Saying I Cried

This waiting paraphrases (unhelpfully) the larger giving. As leaves falling are a sort of donation. Discomfort is persistence justifying itself. Just say it, he said.

Unhelpfully? The ellipsis is the invisible bridge, the chance to say not this way, not now. Paper swans, a thought of children, and earlier still, the quarter moon amid flickering stars. It is a way of saying I cried.

There is nothing funny about a bus. Bent over the writing as if to get closer to what. These twenty sentences are not the twenty sentences I wrote yesterday. Introducing my best friend the monosyllabic yet.

Remember the letters you wrote when I was in prison? The moon falls under the hill. At our best, we give away what is best about ourselves. Your romance is my dreary afternoon but so what?

Wasn't it? It seems as if long ago we held one another against something monstrous, something unkind. She entered the room and what he noticed was her hair, pulled back severely, though her eyes remained curious, ever with that hint of gratitude that masked the underlying - as yet unsolved - anger. We are one another's teacher, no?

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