Monday, September 1, 2014

I am impossibly impatient each time I return to New York City. The last ten miles are hot coals, I am shifting uncomfortable in my seat. I am shaking, I am bursting out of the car. I offer to walk, my father says
"No" and I say,
"you can avoid the congealed afternoon traffic", my father says,
"I don't mind the traffic",
swears the entire length of it. A city is dried without it's blood supply and we are porcelain white cells. We are the immunities, the transplants, the city attacks us and we ride the waves of pain. My little brother breaks his leg and I say,
"ride the waves, bite into them" and he says,
"I don't mind the hurt",
winces for the next five months.

I had a pair of shoes that my mother threw out because they were "ratty". Rats are very clean animals. I am a rat. I am meticulous, I am violent, I am scabbed and barren for the length of my tail. I do not have a cool haircut. I do not have nails long enough to drag you down to keep you closer than a
sweater that you knitted for someone you do not remember the name of, looks an awful lot like
something astounding
that you do not remember the name of but reminds you of my mother's china cabinet
and how the most precious things
are delicate-

it is okay to be breakable 

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