Wednesday 11/01/2006 11:48:00 PM

The ribbons were long and pink. On the tiny boxes. Even though they had my name on them, they didn't seem to belong to me. The sleepwalk that is life becoming apparent. As I examined his signature in the card. Words to say what life would not permit. Children sleeping in their parents' clothes.

There was every night to waste thinking about what liars have to trust. The pancakes spilled from the carton in a timid stream. The eggs waited warmly. While he laid out the dishes and set the orange juice on the table.

The smell of syrup antiseptic on my tongue. The cackle of the water as it threatened coffee. It was almost as though we were real. And not just the night before reminding us we were the prey.

You don't have to be broken to recognize when someone else is. But if you are. It's that much easier to to know when it's time to let them fall apart.

1 comments:
Susan Abraham said...

Enjoyed this read so much for its cleverness that suggested a rare, tormented beauty.



| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.