Saturday 4/15/2006 10:06:00 PM

Pulls her hair back and says it's incidental. Everything is. Millions of molecules just to make one tear. Twirls a strand around her finger and stares at my feet.

Where have you been?

There was always mud on my shoes. It's only just now that you're noticing it.

She starts a braid and doesn't finish it. I offer her a rubberband, but she doesn't want it.

Pulls her hair back again and changes the song. Says she wants something loud and fast. Devoid of melody. Like she used to listen to when she was young.

And Angry.

And Certain.

That everything was changing.

As fast as she was.

Finishes her braid and asks me when it stopped.

I don't know.

Somewhere between the beginning and the end there's all this middle. You keep walking, but it sticks to your shoes.

Incidentally, I'm not so sure I want to change anymore.

Or that I ever did.

But watching her draw those small braids in her hair I realized how subtle change often is.

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