Make it New
You open the cabinet, take a mug from the shelf, fill it with tap water and set the microwave to two minutes. Another cup of tea, another late night. You’re... Read more
Spiral (Part 2)
Continued from last week’s edition.. My mom died six months after I was born. Pneumonia, an infection. I’m not exactly sure, I never really wanted to talk with my dad about it. I never really want to talk to him at all anymore. Weird, right?
He was a sculptor. His body was found on the shore the next morning. Overnight, frost crystallized on the ends of his hair, his lips, the inside of his ear, his nostrils, his forefingers, his chipped fibula cracking through wax paper skin. The coroner said that the impact wasn’t enough to kill him outright, but that he had a heart attack during freefall. He had jumped off the Francis Scott Key Bridge.
When I see that picture I remember a whole summer of my life smudged and faded like chalk when your middle school teacher is too lazy to erase the blackboard completely, or the haze that clouds your mind for weeks, after a three-day acid bender riding across the state of Georgia, in your dad’s stolen car.
Does anyone in here get hit with inside fever? So bad sometimes it’s hard to move around. The couch fibers keep you inside, and you whine you shouldn’t waste your mornings. You take a walk.