a swan, snow-feathered,
you seemed, until you molted
to reveal a duck
with feathers like the mountain:
snow melting, lilies blooming
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[Camp NaNo, Story 14] ElapseIn the years that were bright, the years Frost described as gold-before-the-green, we lived half here, in this world, and half in Lothlorien.
Not the original Lothlorien, of course. Even at eight years old, I knew that I could not reach Lothlorien on foot, at least not in a matter of minutes. Perhaps if I followed the sun westward long enough, I would find Lothlorien, and perhaps Rivendell, and perhaps even the Havens, but not in time to get back home for dinner. So, instead, we created--found--our own Lothlorien.
In the late afternoons, I would sit beneath the trees in our front yard, and Gray would join me, settling quietly beside me without rustling the grass. And I would dream. I did not know then that the trees were called mellyrn, or that the flowers were called elanor--however, I knew the colors of Lothlorien, and that was enough. I dreamed of the trees around us rising, rising, their bark turning silver and their leaves upon their spreading limbs turning golden. A
[Camp NaNo, Day 12] ChildrenThere is a family down the street with six children. Or, at least, Gray and I count six from our window. We watch them wheel in circles in the street. The windows are closed, but I can hear their squealing from here. It is a noise we both have grown unaccustomed to.
Gray says that if he looked away, he would be unable to tell if they were squealing in joy or distress. Just like piglets, I say.
How uncharitable, he remarks.
And now you know why I don't want any, I say.
We continue watching, because the chores are done and the housemates are gone and there is nothing better to do, and it has been a long time since we last watched children play in the street. I ask Gray how long it has been, and he says it has been at least six years. I comment that time sure flies, and he agrees, though he comments also on the cliche.
Another child squeals. I look and deduce that it was from joy. At least it's better than silence, I say.
I tell Gray that even if I do not have
[Camp NaNo, Day 11] CelebrationSoon after going home for the summer, she decided she was sick of home cooking.
Her chance came when her parents drove north on a weekend trip. They had invited her to come along and see her cousins, but she had managed to convince them that she was too tired from work and that she would have trouble studying on the road. Thankfully, they had dropped it at that, and she hadn't needed to cook up any further reasons.
They had left the fridge stocked with leftovers, with homemade bread and dumplings, but she ignored them and dialed a local pizzaria's number. The employee who picked up was pleasant-voiced, with a crisp Southern accent that reminded her of her high school friends.
"I'd like a large pizza, please," she said.
"What toppings would you like?" asked the employee.
"Pineapple," she said, because she was the only person in her family who liked pineapple. "Extra pineapple."
"Will you be picking it up, or would you like it delivered?"
After providing her address,
[Camp NaNo, Day 10] FrostQuite fittingly, she dreamed of being sick while she was sick.
In her dream, she was the only patient in the room. The nurses and doctors spoke in hushed tones around her; more than once, she caught whispers of "that poor girl."
There was an IV in her right arm. It itched, and she tried to pull it out, but a doctor frowned at her and she stopped. There were oxygen tubes up her nose, which she minded less since the air from them was pleasantly cool. She felt fine, except for the fact that she couldn't get out of bed, and she wondered what she had been hospitalized for.
Her supervisor from the lab she worked at came to visit her, bearing a tray of mouse DNA samples, pipets, and a slab of agarose gel.
"I know you're sick, but could I have your help loading these samples?" her supervisor asked, an apologetic smile on her face. She didn't have the heart to say no.
She set the tray in front of her, and one by one, she pipetted each sample into separate hollows in the gel. Her bed was not
[Camp NaNo, Day 9] FootstepsThat summer night, she learned that supermoons were not auspicious omens.
She had been sitting at her desk, the overhead light on, her laptop open and playing quiet classical music in front of her, her statistics textbook open on her lap, her head bent as she read the most recent chapter on confidence intervals. Gray sat next to her, hands folded across his lap, eyes closed. Then she heard her father call her name from downstairs.
"Did you see the supermoon?" he called.
"The what?" she called back. Gray opened his eyes.
"There's supposed to be a 'supermoon' tonight," she heard her father say. "Are you able to see it?"
She glanced at a window behind her and saw only darkness. "No," she replied.
"Let's see if we can find it!" She heard her father get up.
"No, I'm fine," she called back hastily, but the stairs were already squeaking. He entered the room and walked over to the window, craning his neck.
"Did you see anything?" he asked.
"No," she said. Gray was sitting completely still, but
[Camp NaNo, Day 8] AspirationShe remembers a conversation she had with Gray that still makes her sigh.
Many summers ago, he was waiting for her when she walked outside, leaving the house empty. Not going to call Angela and the others today? he asked as they began walking down the street.
Nope, she said. You're more interesting to talk to, and she has soccer practice.
I don't know how to feel about your word order, he responded. She laughed.
They continued down the block and came to a large fountain, with a base big across as a living room and a jet the height of a ceiling. They say that you can see a huge rainbow when the sunlight hits this fountain at the right angle, she said. They walked around the fountain, twice, but saw no rainbows. Screw you too, she told the fountain. She picked up a pebble and tossed it at the fountain. It plinked into the water, like a coin, and sunk.
Why did you do that? he asked. It's not the fountain's fault.
I know, she s
The Cold Cash ConundrumThe Cold Cash Conundrum, by David Nicholas...
This idea of cash
Trivial on the surface
Yet powers unmatched
Its uses; countless
From the wise to the foolish
Here’s my short sample
Help, harass or be
Spent, saved, invested, gambled
To shape one’s visions
To rule, to rise, to evolve
To work past our binds
A great mystery
How Earth’s under lock and key
By small plastic notes
haar stoutelingsshe asks me how much i love her;
i answer, "i love you lots!"
she asks me how much i like her,
and i answer, "some."
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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