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Kayt Nelson |
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3432 N. Leavitt This is the last note Rhonda will drop to 3432 N. Leavitt before it becomes dust. Seems strange. Unnerving really. Things change so quick in the Windy. One day a two-flat's there. Next day gone. Same with people. Last she met at his place several solstices past, he had her wait out back in such heat, while he readied for Ravinia. Must have been a reason. He wouldn't let her in. She always did wonder. So she briefly melted into weathered red steps biding her time, gazing upwards past dents in the siding into the beautiful, bony arms of his old tree. She pondered the stories it must embrace wondered if the two of them might place a patch of green peonies in the thirsty ground around it. When they cruised up 41, for the music and cool, in his crappy car with its leaky tires just past city limits they took turns tapping the dashboard mouse a jiggle to their always excellent mood and conversation. Under low spreading branches which held down a certain warmth they reverently appreciated the shape of grape tomatoes the loveliest Brandenburg the simple reading of his Sunday Trib. The car is gone now. She misses that stupid car. She guessed the mouse went with the car. She misses the mouse. The house was the second place he kissed her so of course… She'll miss that tree the most, though. Leaving Covington Woods Tonight he'll be the death of me, cleave me, carve me, compartmentalize my beauties. I'll fade, but wake beneath memory's shape dispensing shadows where in hiding lies his cunning. He'll heave such bane upon my back soiled bones in muddied satchels ever thinning. I'll pray a day he's less to me than feral ooze splashing wild against my swellings. Rife river stone to make my steps groan of currents be my running by birch boats laced with gut and sledge reptilian hedges where in lying hides my cunning. Tonight he'll be the death of me. My oars shall fly, seek harbor lights so shy, they'll spark behind a twilight sky in hues of palest grays to rose of cherished maidens dancing. A blush I'd dared not know I'll not release it's glow I'll brace my knotted cheeks come every wave a crashing. By shadow falls I'm gone. My sorry place say done, save for empathy and bidding. The slate wiped free by me, replaced by my decree, born this day a will to be where in cunning lies my hiding. Tonight he'll be the death of me. [Index] |
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Thunder Sandwich #26 - Summer/Fall 2005 |
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