Life
We’ll move to the suburbs. We’ll have separate rooms. He’ll stumble into his room late at night, masturbating into a torn Pantera shirt. He’ll draw from worn memories of clumsy drunk girls and the Pabsts he spilled in their dented Hyundais.
I’ll hear him from my room. I’ll stuff cotton balls in my ears, rewriting Sappho’s fragments on blank canvases. Reciting them while I shoot Instagram photos of my cat, without filters. We’ll send out pictures of our new home, us holding hands on the porch—beneath a smoldering sunset. Someday, we’ll have a white picket fence. We’ll plant daisies.
Photo credit: Wes Peck
Jesus, this is wonderful. Evokes such strong feelings, especially at the end. Great work.
Probably my favorite piece I have read on the site thus far. Your choices of detail are pitch perfect. You do exactly what this form strives to do – evoke volumes with a few carefully chosen words.
I absolutely love this one! Wonderfully edgy stuff.