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


Thursday, Jul. 17, 2008 @ 8:09 am
Summer 08



I've worn the same thing every day this week. I cover it up with a hi-vis vest, pull on my work boots, now covered in a fine, white powder, and arrange my radio so that it is balanced. I rub in sun screen; it feels gritty from the dust blowing from the pile.

Everyone is having babies. I'm surrounded by them, their taught, rounded tummies, babies tumbling inside. The babies nestle in slings, at the campground, in the restaurant. They pull out their breasts to feed, and I keep my eyes on my salad. You'll have this one day, sooner than you think, Shannon. The office lady tells me, her own ovaries aching at the mention of Bill's new daughter, born fresh yesterday morning. I shrug.

I've slept a lot this summer. Waking up, sleeping for an extra hour, even though I should be taking advantage of the long days. Should be. I dream in that last hour - thick, heady dreams, of people from lost years, of people not hiding from their feelings. My head resting on Geoff's thin chest, him kissing my head over and over, I have loved you for so long.

And then I met Amanda, in real life. The first woman that I've met that I instantly loved. I borrowed a book from her shelf, hoping to have reason to see her again. I need a friend, a friend like her. Soft, and slightly troubled, but in the end so much like me, or maybe more truthfully, she mirrors me, reflects my inside on her outside. Because I'm not that beautiful. Outside.


Roots | Shoots