Forty-five moles
harbored into the Tree of Life. “Just for a moment” they said, as they bored, deep and red, into the roots, teeth and claw gnashing ripe. Forty-five monstrous moles dug into the limbs with fury. Once a home for the multitude, now breached, undermined, and weakened in crude, devious fashion. “No need to worry” heeded the critters, the no-good, nocturnal hitters that chawed at the fibers so many creatures called home. “We’re here to help, and fix all your problems, to ward off your enemy, and stable the wobblems that you know nothing about.” And the forty-five ill-intended moles set about creating holes for all of the other lives to fall into.
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Yesterday was the time
when we walked with wolves and slept with angels at our feet. Lapping up laughter as though we were already dead. Yesterday is when we lived. Just yesterday, I felt the warmth of your neck as you crooned a fool, all trick-footed, and brazen. Yesterday, I drank your beer, while you ollied down the drive, in your Vans and bagginess. I swear, we were alive, just yesterday. Remember when life was hell?
Remember when there were people that loved you? They wanted to include you, walk with you, talk with you, feed you hot suppers of roasted potatoes, love, and gravy, but you refused to eat. You refused to speak. You climbed down into that muddy, mental hole you dug, just beneath that tree of life. Or you climbed over the loving rocks that hindered your isolation, and you never bothered with goodbyes. You never bothered to look them in the eye and explain why their invested time was such a waste. Do you remember? You can find her on the stoop,
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AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |