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#6 Herself to Herself

by Kyle Anne Kish

Herself pondered
the mess her mind
was in. There was
way too much
sunlight and traffic
in her head.
The traffic was
unbearable,
because there were
no stop signs
anywhere ...
just the constant
whoosh ... whoosh
of traffic speeding
its way into oblivion.
Doors closing,
laughter and the
tapping of shoes
on pavement, all
sounded like
fingernails
on a blackboard.

"Please," Herself
coaxed her rocking
body, while massaging
her temples, "please
just make the sunshine
not so bright, the traffic
less heavy, prop all
doors open or keep
them locked tightly,
and put gummed
soles on the bottoms
of all shoes. Please,
somebody do this and
I will be eternally
grateful. I ask this
because every hair
is prickled up with
static on the back
of my arms. Please."

Herself did not
know with whom
she pleaded, but
it did not seem
to matter, because
Herself's pleading's
simply hung in the
air, which hung
out and laughed
at her while she
tried to hang on
with all the muscle
and sinew wrapped
tightly around
her being.

Herself balled the message up into a sweaty, crumpled sphere in her head. She mulled over where to go with such damning information about Herself. She cried with such terrible sorrow that her message flowed freely to Friend.

03/06/2006

Author's Note: Writing this in conjunction with Friend.

Posted on 03/06/2006
Copyright © 2024 Kyle Anne Kish

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