|
There is a flush of my face that says this.
by Bob ArcaniaI call my grandmother yesterday from the gas
station down the road and she tells me never
to listen. I grip my throat so tight my esophagus
collapses like glass. As it catches in the receiver
the woman asks me what is wrong, but Ive already
dropped the phone to my feet like radishes pulled
from her garden. It sizzles on the ground
like water from my lips. The yellow taxi cab I
had been hailing for the past week finally opens
its softened doors to me, exhaling a moist dust
out the slightly cracked windows and I wonder,
Should I feel insulted? but I pick up the slivers
of my throat and climb quiet into its brown interiors,
slipping down like an earthworm, devouring.
11/16/2006 Author's Note: Edited December 5th
Posted on 11/16/2006
Copyright © 2024 Bob Arcania
| 