Even objects lose their innocence A paper cup grows a mirror. The mirror, a paralyzed lip and palsied hand. A box of white tissues tilts and spills long yellow tubes as a bed narrows and bars at the end.
Nail kit, pink-handled file. Rattail that stole your hair. Black like the writing scrawled and clipped asap to a board under a repeating face again, again, beyond end.
Fade to a note you penned, shaky as you were and a goofy, half-mast grin PS’s, I told you things walk off. Expect me to, think again, my friend. Think again.
Materialism, Covetousness, things that us packrats tend not to want to give up as we age--but need to give up if we are to never be alone in life. The paper cup growing symbolized, for me, the futility of waiting for life to fill us, when it is we who should be filling the cup of life.
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Quite insightful write you have here Phyllis,
blessin's,
cynth'ya lewis reed
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in tx., karen lynn. :D