SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Giving Notice - Friday, Sept. 29, 2017
Accepting Offers - Tuesday, Sept. 26, 2017
Indian/Polish Wedding - Thursday, Sept. 21, 2017
The Builder - Wednesday, Sept. 13, 2017
Rupert Part II - Sunday, Sept. 10, 2017


Sunday, Jan. 23, 2005 @ 11:08 pm
Prickly Pear





Who thinks that it is spring? The ground softens and green things grow again. Green, my jealous heart - but it softens too. My heart has loosened into a flip-flopping fish floundering on the firm seashore. What used to be cold (to them) has released into tonic highs and acid lows.

I wonder where this will go. It's so different. The prickly pear that we shared one evening... spiny on the outside - spines that we both fought to remove from our fingers for days - but the red juice he licked from his half of the fruit stained our lips for only seconds. His eyes and mine both wide from the new flavour and surprising texture. In the morning I woke, and he told me later that my first stumbled dawn-words were "Prickly pear".

For now, I stand beside you, at the edge of the stage.




Roots | Shoots