Dust mote meteor with a tail of fire,
hurtling towards a black hole-
covered by sticky glass.
A thick skinned wave slides down,
A feathered tendril unfurls,
and curls around the gritty ball of flame.
Catching it, ensnaring it, before the wave recedes,
the tendril let's go,
and sends the meteor on it's way.
When I was younger, my parents spent money more carefully than they do now. My mom refused to work because she didn't want to leave raising my younger brother and I up to a nanny. My father had a well paying job, but he was also our sole provider. So, more often than not, we were herded towards our local library and away from expensive bookstores.
When I was a child, the library we frequented was more or less split in two. You could walk through the glass doors speckled with tiny fingerprints, and find yourself standing directly in front of the librarians' desks. There were five, but usually only two of them were in use. From there, you could either turn left and head towards the children's section, or right towards the adult's section.
In those days I almost always went towards the left. For the benefit of smaller children, bookshelves were shorter there, which...
We pulled up to Poppy’s house on the Fourth of July, fifteen minutes late.
“Regan, Brian,” mom said. We both looked up and met her eyes in the rear view mirror. “Remember that Grandma Kacky and Poppy are divorced. So she’s not going to be here. Poppy is probably sad, so don’t ask him about it. Okay?”
“Okay,” we said. Poppy married Grandma Kacky, his second wife, before I was born. She was nice enough to me, but she was hardly ever around. I wasn’t very sad about her being gone. I hoped Poppy wasn’t too sad either.
Dad barely got the car parked before I threw my door open and jumped out. I ran past everyone in the front yard, saying the occasional hello over my shoulder, and toward the house. Inside, I shouted hello to everyone in the kitchen. A chorus of greetings answered me while I continued on toward the backyard. The door was already...