a girl

“But sometimes (and this should be underlined) I miss the feeling I used to get, right when I awoke next to you, that one of us couldn’t move their legs.  When everyone is downstairs talking quietly, or when a man buys a newspaper from a stand where the hawker is mute or asleep or dead, and there is no other visible activity.  Except for the atonal hum of some odd subcutaneous rambling.  Blood maintains its identity even in stasis: the sea becomes water.”


One Response to a girl

  1. Jane Menges says:

    I loved it! But I think you should rewrite it as a five stanza poem and then send it to the New Yorker! I think the same thing about the long one you wrote. I would divide it into short paragraphs. That would give the reader more help in reading it. That’s what I think. This one reminded me of watching a movie which is good!

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