Thursday, July 26, 2007


Mysteries shatter on the kitchen floor. We had carried them carefully from the stove, popping hot gossip burning through our mitts, improbable fantasies bubbling in the murky broth. Our nerves shook our fingers, dropped the steaming bowls of secrets. They splash into each other. Nothing we have can clean them. Your unknown conspiracy for murder collides with my long lost son in the Tropics. They mingle together, web strands sticking together so even light can't penetrate them. We beg them to open up, give us their pearls, spit out their secrets. They whisper their regrets; they would destroy us if we knew. A fresh grave in the Bahamas cradles a body, my only child grown up to fill it.


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home