Home
Home
I found a home in the air with the female vocalist, moving my feet to the little dances inside of me. The vocalist had that same sort of comfort as kisses down the back of your neck, and I've searched for her flaming red hair and pale skin everywhere. She was isolated, she was away from the crowd. Her name wasn't listed on the set list. I've searched. She didn't have an identity, as Briseis no longer had an identity after being stolen from Lyrnessus. At the other end of the tunnel of light, the red-haired lady walked towards a glowing exit sign. Walking with her was a DJ dressed in religious Sikh robes and a turban. I could only assume they were walking into the ten-degree winter air with the intention to share a cigarette. I wanted to ask them if they felt free? They must know what home is if they are wanderers like me.


He Never Needs to Know
Our conversation drifts, and I notice the rats the man warned us about. There are three of them, scurrying around the plaza, making their pilgrimage to the inky pond. The three must have been sent out as scouts. An entire herd of them follow, waking from their daylight slumber in the fountain and scuttling towards their ritualistic bath in the moonlight. Rats are mothers too and need to bathe their children. I suddenly wince and bend over. I thought these bloody cramps had finally stopped. Maybe it's a good thing. Ninety-five to hundred, ninety-five to hundred. Scout notices.

Flames Flicker Like Snow-White Car Lights
Flames Flicker Like Snow-White Car Lights
"Your perfume," he says into her ear, "You changed it."

The girl awkwardly pulls away from his arms and the lit end of her cigarette skims the cuff of the boy's long, wool coat, close to his bare hand.

"Careful, I could burn you," she says, deflecting his observation.

"I liked your vetiver scent better."

"Really?" The girl raises the pulse point of her wrist up under her nose and takes a sniff. "I quite like this one."

The boy takes a step closer to the girl. "No, this one's too sweet for you."

"You think I can't be sweet?" She challenges, raising her chin.

"No, I know you better." The boy takes another step closer to the girl. "Let's get drinks."



Dancer; Girl
Wear your white uniform leotards on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, since it reveals your body so you can watch your hipbones to keep them level; wear your black uniform leotards on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but know they cover you up; don't leave class with shorts pulled over your pink tights, a modest dancer should always change in the dressing room; place dry tea bags and lavender in your pointe shoes right after you take them off because your feet smell worse than a men's locker room; when you buy yourself clothes get a children's large instead of an adult small, otherwise your hips will grow to fill them out.
Made on
Tilda