Corinth will be closed this Thursday, March 4 to complete a critical upgrade to the building’s HVAC system. The exterior materials return bin will be unavailable Thursday, March 4 and Friday, March 5.
She fell on top of me, burrowed her face in my fluff, hands smacking the down inside of me, legs kicking, wriggling, growing restless at the foot. Every night I gave her comfort, she told me her secrets, whispered in the meekest of voices of the taunts and the teases and the tortures of the day.
I miss running down the street with you at half past 3
When your dad dropped you off after softball practice on Sunday afternoons.
And there was never anything more than grass stains on white pants and empty soda cans that my mom told me to throw away two hours ago.
You ask me If I know the way back home from here. I sing the words, “yes, dear” back to you like I’m someone else. You say “alright” because you’ve got nothing else to say right now; I respect that. I keep my eyes on the road. I’m not quite sure where you’re looking at this point
I wake before you and in the darkness,
I don’t recognize you right away.
Your lashes bring their own light,
full like fields of crows,
a murder of crows. The birds nested
on the hill I’m sure I’ve told you about
in front of the tomb, white stones holding
For the first time, in her selective memory
she lies in bed, alone
without a light or heartbeat to keep her company.
Her heart beats, in rhythm with her thoughts.
She barely knows the way to her own door
yet she knows the feeling of being a stranger
through the blistering cold she falls to her feet
to land in the warmth of your touch
her glass slippers give way to the dancing
but the scent of your voice is too much
the chandeliers hang from the ceiling
the cocktails overflowing with pride
There is a world so different than ours
Where elves walk with man and have mystical powers
And in this world, on the streets of a small castletown
There you’d find the most honorable rogue around
It was home to the King of Thieves.
It looked a bit like Lila, but it wasn’t Lila. I don’t know why people say that when someone dies they look like they’re sleeping. Her skin was dull grey and colder than ice. Her long body lay limp and heavy on the stainless steel table. Her clothes were dirty and rumpled.
Rain danced gleefully across the tombstones as if mocking the dead. The now wet moss on older parts of the graveyard made the ground slick. It grew where other forms of life refused for reasons of their own, yet sparingly did the moss do so as if even it respected burial grounds.