Pulled my face down in the mirror and felt a shift. Pulled the cord to close the blinds harder, no blue wash on the floor tonight. The next room over feels ten degrees colder and the heat is past stolen, past steps. The walk down the hall is the slow take back of breath. The slow take of waking, like realizing you're sorry. It's the wrong time of year but it's all anatomy, your hair and your eyelids, buckwheat and hulls.
End-of-Month | webzine and blog
Reflections on the end… of the month.
End-of-Month | webzine and blog 