Wednesday October 12, 2016
Your Fathers, Where Are They? And The Prophets, Do They Live Forever?
He read my palm as the radiator behind me clicked, and played rhythms I could have danced to. When it slowed into the easy drip of a faucet I could finally calm down. I wished I hadn’t come here. I wish I knew better about most things. He told me that I didn’t have to be nervous even though I had convinced myself I wasn’t. The sound of an indescribable call outside the window: the rolling yelp repeated with urgency; the kind of animal that could be a raven or a sea gull or an owl.