I am tired of suffering fools. My head hurts from the effort of it. There isn’t much else to say, except I am waiting for a dress the color of blood and dirt to arrive in the mail. Raw silk and full of folds. Continue reading
Author Archives: sevenhousesdown
Day 44 of 35
Alone now with no one looking, Amber twisted her hair. She stopped before it tangled and slowly began walking around the trailer, looking. There should have been a note. You would think that he would have left one if he was going to do this. But, maybe he believed she wouldn’t come back. She sometimes … Continue reading
Day 43 of 35
I am starting to worry that I have run out of words for this Continue reading
Day 42 of 35
It’s just not coming today. Continue reading
Love / Poetry / Uncategorized / Writing
Day 41 of 35
The moon, in distress, followed close, and the moths tried to pass for their cousins but failed. I wanted to tell you, “Look up,” but the light was too much. You could not see that the constellations had moved, that the lion had wandered off, that the virgin had taken a lover, that the entire … Continue reading
Day 40 of 35
Ouch Continue reading
Day 39 of 35
It was quiet where we were. Continue reading
Day 38 of 35
He asked what I knew of current events. I told him; the gutters are full of rain, and next door a girl-child wails. Continue reading
Day 37 of 35
It was one of those first nights in the dark of the kitchen when we sat nearly naked on the tile drinking the last bottle of cheap champagne. The dogs uncertain what to make of us licked our faces and curled themselves at our feet. I knew then. Continue reading
Day 36 of 35
Brother At four you were fascinated with the length of my adolescent blonde hair, how I piled it high at the top of my head. You would climb into my arms, twist it, and say, “doorknob,” as if you could open me and crawl right in. When I put you down, you would settle for … Continue reading
Untempered Glass 