Ginger Teppner: Like Linen

Fall '13 TOC

His list:

lace draping curtains,
the still burning light,
an old white cotton shade
a room the size of his faith,
a shell, a prison, a chrysalis,
morning side of the street

Her confession:

I always manage to say
the wrong thing unrolled
and furled with ripples


The meeting:

he pierces my ears
and bakes me bread
both actions equally shocking
an appetizer of white
laid out on the table:
white beets,
white noodles,
white vinegar
white bread stored air
tight in a zip lock bag
ears still bleeding
something hidden inside

The epiphany:

I should have been linen.
Not really. Not really.

"Yes definitely," he responds,
but maybe you'll grow into it."

::Next::

 

Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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