lemon hound
after a fashion
I have seen the window at the far end of the yellow hallway shattered, repaired, shattered again…and I can no longer weep at the shattering. I have heard the voice break out in song, falter and grow quiet, then sing again…and I have learned that beauty is not in the voice but in the singing. I have waited long for the phone to ring and when it did, refused to answer it…and I have come to understand that I will never really understand.
This world is not what I thought it would be. My sister believes Jesus smelled liked cinnamon cookies and died for her sins. This world is not what I hoped it would be. My sister can identify more than thirty different colors of nail polish but has never been to an art gallery. This world is not what they promised it would be. My sister refuses to have a breast exam for fear the doctors might find something.
This world is the shattering of windows and the faltering voice, this world is the unanswered call. Yet I love the yellow hallway and the tenuous song, and I love that the telephone rings even if it’s never answered. Each day the window goes unshattered is a good day. Each day the song begins again is a good day. And tomorrow I may answer the telephone.
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