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i sit hunched over in my swivel chair until she comes home from her office and puts her ivory feeling hands on my forehead. mothers always say there there, i will feed you syrupy medicines until you are nine years old again on minter lane in your wool nightgown, i will kiss your cheeks and talk about you with your father in the other room while it snows quietly outside and your older brothers and sisters walk in single-file lines at their schools; they are not making a peep to watch white fog spill from the space between scarves and wooly caps when you are sick you are made of grey fleeces and mothers are made of cool smooth ivory your feet dangle from dinner chairs again as you watch the grackles making footprints in the snowy johnston elementary schoolyard or you are lying awake on your pillow listening to your eyelashes make blinking sounds on the white fabric while the nyquil wears down. NOW = while i blow my nose and drink VITAMIN C all the day i am frightened of unearthing boredom, i am frightened of its barbaric YAWP over the rooftops of the world and clog my head with fluids as to evade his ghosty fingers.
by The JavaScript Source
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