Category: writing

“All black everything”
She mouthed to herself
In the mirror this morning.
She eats a single slice
Of salami from
A plastic Ziploc bag.
(Or at least that’s
What it looks like
From my periphery.)
She in short hair
Hunched over her phone,
Laughing at things
But not too loud
To draw attention.
The salad zone
Blasts Bohemian Rhapsody.
It’s quiet, everyone
Drinks the diet version
Of things. I’m thinking
About the carrots
I didn’t eat for lunch.
Outside,
The clouds roll in.

You remember
Right?
Everything fades.
All memory
Rests on the precipice.
She walks with purpose–
She reads Ghost World–
She eats a salad.
This will be nothing
In 1,000 years.
This will not exist.
Your brain is loose
With information.
She wears Christmas colors.
Your life as long
As an atom’s mass
To a black hole.
She turns the pages–
She ignores everyone.
When we are gone
Instead of monuments
There will be bones
In the dirt.

It’s warm out
So I’m outside again,
A ghost of translucent skin
And awkward-angled sunburns,
Draped in cheap Target cloth.
A single man in cyan
Sits on a sun-drenched hill
Staring into a bright rectangle.
I write about him
In a similar rectangle.
I do my best to not ogle
The women in sundresses
But let’s face it:
The world is blooming now
And there’s much more
To look at.

I, and maybe you,
Pull clods of earth asunder
As we haul ourselves
From the sunken winter,
Shaking our lumbering frames,
Inhaling the soft scent
Of flowers. We smell love,
And feel the warm breeze
Against our cheeks.
We’ve won our annual
Fight against the seasons.
We’ve won once again.