|
C. E. Laine |
|
miscellany under scrutiny It's how soft isn't soft but I want the illusion and aubergine is some interpretation of purple could be bruises, or deep dish pies, maybe grape cola still, it's a lovely word aubergine how my tongue moves when I say that word and I think of licking wounds or sweeping out last crumbs a long cold pull of anything that isn't grape soda because aubergine is more solid than carbonated sugar water on packing away the glass heart My heart is cut glass, sharp shards reflecting a thousand facets of him, but I am more than a mirror and this heart only looks hard. It is a fragile thing, wrapped in white sheets of packing paper from the U-haul store, tucked away some place where light and dust can't reach. I don't need it anymore, but I can't throw it out or give it to the Salvation Army or Good Will. I may want to peel back the paper and put it out again, some day. |