Sometimes, I carefully open the door, find the light switch, and descend into my basement. Sure, it is damp. My nostrils squeeze a little to ward off mildew. My skin breathes the cool. This time, in the stillness, I hear exultant whispers from the attic. Out the dormer window they launched our kite, inscribed with poetry in a language I …
Sometimes, I carefully open the door, find the light switch, and descend into my basement. Sure, it is damp. My nostrils squeeze a little to ward off mildew. My skin breathes the cool. This time, in the stillness, I hear exultant whispers from the attic. Out the dormer window they launched our kite, inscribed with poetry in a language I haven’t yet learned.
Sometimes, I carefully open the door, find the light switch, and descend into my basement. Sure, it is damp. My nostrils squeeze a little to ward off mildew. My skin breathes the cool. This time, in the stillness, I hear exultant whispers from the attic. Out the dormer window they launched our kite, inscribed with poetry in a language I haven’t yet learned.
We don’t care if the sky gods notice.
The mockingbird did.