dough
there is always food
when the telephone rings
my hands knuckle-deep
a voice flat and distant
four and twenty — december 2011
dough
there is always food
when the telephone rings
my hands knuckle-deep
a voice flat and distant
four and twenty — december 2011
saturday
wandering around the house
trying to remember
which room, what reason
words written in the air
creek water slides across the road where it curves into a one-lane bridge. the peacocks are out, and it’s hard to tell which are leucistic and which are just covered with snow. I imagine their missing tail feathers, the unexpected white slowly melting into iridescent color.
I stop to get something I didn’t remember the day before. I forget why I‘m here, distracted by baba ganoush — it’s on sale. waiting to check out, I remember what I forgot and realize that I’ll have to come back again tomorrow because now I need pita bread, too.