"What fools they are to believe the angels    in this window are in ecstasy. They do not smile. Their eyes are rolled back in annoyance    not in bliss, as my mother’s eyes roll back    when she finds us in the dirt with the cider— flies and juice blackening our faces and hands.    When the sun comes up behind the angels    then even in their dun robes they are beautiful,    with their girlish hair and their mean lit faces,    but they do not love the light. As I do not love it when I am made clean for the ladies who bring my family money. They stroke my face and smooth my hair. So sweet,    they say, so good, but I am not sweet or good.    I would take one of the possums we kill    in the dump by the woods where the rats slide    like dark boats into the dark stream and leave it    on the heavy woman’s porch just to think    of her on her knees scrubbing and scrubbing    at a stain that will never come out. And these angels that the women turn to    are not good either. They are sick of Jesus,    who never stops dying, hanging there white    and large, his shadow blue as pitch, and blue    the bruise on his chest, with spread petals,    like the hydrangea blooms I tear from Mrs. Macht’s bush and smash on the sidewalk.    One night they will get out of here. One night    when the weather is turning cold and a few    candles burn, they will leave St. Blase standing    under his canopy of glass lettuce and together, as in a wedding march, their pockets full of money from the boxes for the sick poor, they will walk down the aisle, imagining their own hymns, past the pews    and the water fonts in which small things float,    down the streets of our narrow town, while    the bells ring and the birds fly up in the fields    beyond—and they will never come back."

@3 years ago
…researching prices on one-way tickets to my various favorite places. So tempting.

…researching prices on one-way tickets to my various favorite places. So tempting.

@3 years ago
…I need to quit going for such floozies. Just sayin’.

…I need to quit going for such floozies. Just sayin’.

@3 years ago

"There is not love of life without despair about life."

Albert Camus
@3 years ago
Me:I still have no voice.
Ben:It's okay. You're pretty enough that you don't need to talk.
Me:Fuck you. I want to talk. I miss mouthing off.
Ben:But you can stand around and look pretty...
Me:Yeah, I do ruin it a lot by talking... People probably think I'm so charming until I open my big fat mouth.
Ben:I wouldn't say that exactly...
Me:I'm not charming? Fuck you. I'm so endearing, Ben.
Ben:I meant about your mouth... dumbass. You could always learn to sign?
Me:Eh, I'll just write hate messages. Pass notes playground style.
Ben:Did you actually do that?
Me:Yeah, if I was organizing a coup/had a crush on someone.
Ben:Aw. I can see that. Tons of tiny fists raised and shaking in unison.
@3 years ago with 1 note

Listening to O’death, Defiance, Ohio, Do Make Say Think, and lots of Lucero… reliving old loves, old friendships, and sunny days in Europe. It’s enough to make me consider packing my bags and buying a one-way ticket.

@3 years ago
@3 years ago