A full moon in the summer
August 21, 2008
Mostly, she pushes when I pull, and when I push she pulls. I know this too well. Sometimes when I want to pull I think I should just push, just push because I want her to pull on me so badly.
I pour a glass of red wine and pull on a hat. Closing the door behind me, I walk out of my little apartment, through the hall, and outside into the night. The air in the alley is soft and warm. I sit down against a house in the dark, and after looking down into my glass for a moment, I lean my head back against the wall, wishing up into the sky. It's easy just now to imagine myself in the base of a giant eye, in a blackness round and somehow fluid, sealed away from the celestial aether by a taught atmosphere cornea, rapt in the crisp light of a glowing moon pupil.
A police siren sounds in the distance. I look at the ground. Sometimes, people are complicated. Sometimes, the things I want to say are so small that the words are too big for them. They slip right off.
Tags for this piece: nonfiction strange creative relationships