Giselle Stern Hernández: The Morning I Left

Fall '08 TOC

I built sandcastles in the air.  I made mountains out of molehills.  I put the cart in front of
the horse.  I was ashamed.  I put my eggs in one bassinet.  I let the cat out of the bag. I bit
the hand that fed me and then I bit my tongue.  I was out of the frying pan and into the
pyre.  I pulled your leg. I wore my heart on my slip.  I found my feet. I burned the candle
at both ends. I was honest that time.  I was the orange of your eye.  I rolled out the red
carpet.  I barked up the wrong bottle.  I judged a book by its cover.  I burnt my bridges.  I
had a chip on my elbow.  I wasn’t sure what to do.  I called the kettle purple.  I cut off my
nose to spite my mother.  I aired my dirty laundry. I was dead in the water.  I held my
breath.  I had a bad taste in my mouth.  I was a babe in the hood.  I made ends meet.  I
tied the knot.  I took one for the team.  I got the ball rolling.  I was often alone.  I was a
glutton for punishment.  I got on my soap dispenser.  I often thought about you.  I
grabbed the bull by the balls.  I was the oldest trick in the book.  I was quick on the
trigger.  I was high as a kite.  I was hung out to flap. I played second fiddle.  I pushed the
envelope.  I pulled my punches.  I faced the music.  I ate a Buddy’s Burritos Nacho
Special and then I was where the rubber met the roadie.

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