Today is a dawdy day, except the crows and my father talking outside my window. They drift away. I follow them whose dance I find uninteresting.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Grape Saltwater Taffy
If a bastard child were to ever enter a candy shop, he would be unmindful of the ways that things are handled there. The candy shop owner would notice that even a bastard child cannot help, but be thrilled upon laying his eyes on such a delightful collection.
A healthy child’s father buys his son five saltwater taffies. One in each flavor—wood, glass, a needle, stone and grape. The child examines the pieces and declare he does not like grape saltwater taffies, for it is piquant, and the piece is abandoned. (In a tribe of men, the reflections of health cannot be trounced.)
Oblivious of any kinds of gestures, the bastard child burys the grape saltwater taffy in his stomach. He is not thankful, he is not envious, he is not angry and he is not sad. The bastard child knows only of himself. He knows, only, that in order to retain life, one’s stomach must be filled. The bastard child unwraps the grape saltwater taffy and plants it in the earth.
When the initial thrill of the candy shop dies, the bastard child will wobble back into the alley and he will not be seen nor heard. The bastard child has already forgotten about the grape saltwater taffy. And the earth is fed and it is just another day.
A healthy child’s father buys his son five saltwater taffies. One in each flavor—wood, glass, a needle, stone and grape. The child examines the pieces and declare he does not like grape saltwater taffies, for it is piquant, and the piece is abandoned. (In a tribe of men, the reflections of health cannot be trounced.)
Oblivious of any kinds of gestures, the bastard child burys the grape saltwater taffy in his stomach. He is not thankful, he is not envious, he is not angry and he is not sad. The bastard child knows only of himself. He knows, only, that in order to retain life, one’s stomach must be filled. The bastard child unwraps the grape saltwater taffy and plants it in the earth.
When the initial thrill of the candy shop dies, the bastard child will wobble back into the alley and he will not be seen nor heard. The bastard child has already forgotten about the grape saltwater taffy. And the earth is fed and it is just another day.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
There’s This Pitcher of Something Good and Holy
Everything’s so perfect, I’m afraid. How can things be better? I don’t know. Sometimes there’s this emptiness and sometimes there’s this pitcher of something good and holy and it fills you right up. And it’s easy and it's flawless and it's straightforward. This thing’s a reminder and it’s an event. It’s friends and it’s lovers. It’s your children and they’re beautiful, young and handsome. It’s adoration, affection and love stitched into sighs. It’s inexperienced smiles. It’s a wheel and it’s flowers. It’s tombstones and it’s cakes. It’s one too many beers. It’s a blushing with embarrassment. It’s senseless lies made to make you smile. It’s one too many of a good thing. There’s this pitcher of something good and holy and it fills you right up.
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