Monologues

Shopping You realize that nobody’s there to ask if there are tomatoes for a salad because you don’t remember now that you have to remember everything. So you grab three and with the four at home makes seven. You move about the store shopping early to fight discovery, small talk. You see what happened there…… Continue reading Monologues

Fine

Everybody asks this question. The checkers at the grocery store ask it. The teachers I walk past in the hallway at school ask it. The folks at church ask. The friend or colleague you work with says it. The barista asks me. Everybody asks everybody this question. How are you doing? What’s more, universally, everyone…… Continue reading Fine

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Categorized as Memoir Tagged

Penumbra

it won’t show what’s known hands closed behind the back knowing of questions it doesn’t help to say I cannot see it’s assumed every day blindfold like some cataract keeping you back at the chest like a referee splitting two boxers apart who only want to clench to shorten the distance to know.

having

years ago I picked up a rock and kept it knowing I didn’t have a special place for it or that one day maybe I’d want to throw it across some frozen pond or let someone whose left throw it in my place. It means too much to have to close your eyes to know…… Continue reading having