(no subject)
the pecan tree is full of wind. it sounds like a garbage bag full of drafted letters and grocery receipts. for lack of other company, i address my beer bottle. "yes? does that make sense?" it's my fourth day at home.
it's my first day at home. my mother planted corn in our backyard. "that's a sad story," she says. the battery-powered fountain that looks like the space needle among ankle-high snow peas and hummingbird-friendly flower choices is now full, so she turns off the hose. "they were dying at rite-aide. i bought them so at least they could die in our backyard."
there is a moment where no response comes to mind. "the garden looks nice." i think it looks ridiculous. it's something to say.
"i think its a little hokey." she shrugs. "i just consolidated all of the garden things into that one spot." she gestures unenthusiastically with the spray nozzle like an interim monarch.
home smells now like christmas, thanksgiving, summer vacation. like sunburned shoulders and canned peas. i think i've made a mess of a lot of things. i'm only twenty years old.
i'm ninety years old and on the road and the price of gas is $4.33 and i'm just driving for the sake of the road. "whatever you decide to do," chris tells me, "will be the right thing."
it's my first day at home. my mother planted corn in our backyard. "that's a sad story," she says. the battery-powered fountain that looks like the space needle among ankle-high snow peas and hummingbird-friendly flower choices is now full, so she turns off the hose. "they were dying at rite-aide. i bought them so at least they could die in our backyard."
there is a moment where no response comes to mind. "the garden looks nice." i think it looks ridiculous. it's something to say.
"i think its a little hokey." she shrugs. "i just consolidated all of the garden things into that one spot." she gestures unenthusiastically with the spray nozzle like an interim monarch.
home smells now like christmas, thanksgiving, summer vacation. like sunburned shoulders and canned peas. i think i've made a mess of a lot of things. i'm only twenty years old.
i'm ninety years old and on the road and the price of gas is $4.33 and i'm just driving for the sake of the road. "whatever you decide to do," chris tells me, "will be the right thing."