My offended earYour saliva is a caustic solvent applied liberally to our language.It dissolves the syntactic glue that bonds noun to verb, and preposition to object.As words fall from your lazy tongue to the floor, my offended ear struggles to convert chaos into comprehension.
Did I Kill Your Puppy? I didn’t know how to do CPR on a puppy, but I tried. After I pulled Smokey out of the swimming pool, I held him upside down and smacked his back to force water from his lungs. Only foam came out. I tried chest compressions – thirty, like I would for a baby – but his ribcage wasn’t shaped like a baby’s, and I wasn’t sure I was pushing in the right place. He didn’t respond. I covered his foamy muzzle with my mouth and puffed one-two-three. No change. I repeated this until I realized I was wasting my time. I gave up, hugged his wet body and cried. Did I kill your puppy? I guess so. But I don’t feel like a killer. “Kill” infers intent, and Smokey is not dead on purpose. No, I feel like an idiot – a stupid, severely negligent idiot. I let him out back to play with the big dog but returned to my hack-and-slash game instead of supervising him. I heard the big dog barking fervently but continued fightin
Seasons PreservedLast winter I lay down under an apricot tree, the frosted earth wrapping me in a blanket of dead leaves and neglected fruit.In spring, before beetles and worms consumed me, roots encircled my remains and drew me up through trunk, branch, twig and blossom.By late summer I had become flesh, juice and stone. A frail hand picked me and carried me in a basket to a small kitchen in a small house. I was boiled with sugar and lemon, sealed in a glass jar and hidden in a dark, cool corner to sleep. At autumn's end, I awoke as a hand placed my jar in a warm square of sun on a worn oak table. Through the glass I watched an old woman spoon me onto whole wheat toast and eat me between sips of warm chamomile tea.
DNA AppliedUntwist your Fateand with minecombineto createour own small god