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dinner out and you know what?

by Brynn Dizack

ninetwentyfive pm

had dinner with my parents and the

you can't just kill someone; my throat clenched i watched the dirt fall in clups on the ducttaped bag my hands stuffed hardintomytechvestpockets but my arms were bare

i shivered

i should have brought a jacket.

how many hands have mine held? how many spoons, how many pens howmanyanythingatall or how many of vanessa's razors

how many times did i count them how many songs on a dar williams cd how many frost heaves between my house and the school haw many times have i driven the car alone and how many times was it legal

and ten
not counting the time i never left the driveway.

i can't remember

howmanyminutes past twelve

why did i do it last time?
i can't remember

then wasn't it pointless?
what does it matter to you

how would it feel to be anyone but you?
why are you asking me?

i hardly feel at home there anymore
tina says, be reno. you are the diva reno. scott says i would have forgotten anyways and megan laughs. i dance. i try to dance. i pretend i can dance, i saw nathan atkinson once with jazz flats on press the bridges of his toes against the loft floor jutt his knee out and bend the top of his foot so it made a C shape

so i do that all the time at rehearsal

it makes me feel professional

like i should have a fucking énteerauge.

how many minutes since twelve-oh-three?

four three


Posted on 03/18/2002
Copyright © 2022 Brynn Dizack

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