e-revista EgoPHobia
Arrogance it ought to have altered my existence. I observed him bent above his composition, hours consumed informing minuscule granules of tinted sand of his convoluted plans on the soil, sketching cobalt flowers, scarlet flowers, a single colossal blossom obscuring the dried, packed earth. It was so lovely,
Fragments I’m a fool and there’s no getting back all the things I have lost. No use crying for the little pieces, all the bits that made up what I once was, a lie destined to disintegrate
In Memoriam When I die I want you to name some sort of food after me a sandwich, a salad, even just a mixed drink. It can be something that already has a regular name, like peanut butter and jelly, Waldorf, gimlet.
Grief in Perspective we drive back from the hospital, and I can’t talk anymore, he wants to talk. I nod my head at all the appropriate moments, smile, laugh, agree. he seems happy to talk about mundane things, the weather his mother, my parents, how weird it’ll be to go back to work […]
by Holly Day we found the tomatoes grew best in the cemetery sending their thick roots deep into the soil, wrapping thickly-furred cilia between sinew and bone, found new life in places left for the dead.