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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
November 3, 2013
not grief, but something like it is by ~consolecadet "is grounded in a profoundly personal loss, yet speaks to a universal emotion" (suggester's words).
Featured by neurotype-on-discord
Suggested by beeswingblue
Literature Text
my grandmother's tartan bag sits on an upside-down bucket in the basement,
full to the brim with little liquor bottles and cardboard boxes
I go to do the laundry,
pass it twice an hour
and every time, just for a moment, I think she's visiting
full to the brim with little liquor bottles and cardboard boxes
I go to do the laundry,
pass it twice an hour
and every time, just for a moment, I think she's visiting
Literature
Something Borrowed
girls in white dresses
don't always want weddings.
the priests would speak of leaps of faith
and my hands would clasp the wood in horror,
knuckles bleached like bone- and i found
something old: the knot tied in my throat.
my vocal cords did not let empty words escape.
and there was something blue: the heart
that hesitated. how can a seedling prophesy
its harvest? how can a caterpillar promise
the power of its wings?
so let others gather flowers.
we will skip the mass
but not the bed: and through
this something borrowed,
earn a little time-
and a place to rest our heads.
Literature
Divorce
Before that day,
Sunday mornings had never occurred to me.
I must have slept through their every summons:
I never knew the time sensitive ritual of finding matching socks,
forcing “nice” shoes over misshapen toes,
the silent pact we would share with the warm cushions of the divan
waiting for Mother to ready us, memories that settle in the guts
like a madstone, which I could then pull out of my old cadaver
to save myself in the next life.
There were a few moments. Like that time, in the garage,
basking in Father’s sunrise sorcery as he fired his magic timing light
into the fluttering lungs of an engine, or when he let
Literature
Like Only the Stars are Watching
Mr. Glenn’s wife died the day before last. Of course, now all their children could talk about was what she would have wanted.
“She would want a proper burial,” Gary, the eldest, said.
“In the cemetery at Memorial Park,” Martin said.
Gary shook his head. “Much too crowded there. She wouldn’t want to knock elbows with anyone. She would prefer be buried in the Green Meadows Cemetery.”
“No,” Lisa Marie said, slapping her hand against Mr. Glenn’s antique table. “She wouldn’t want a grave. If she was here, she’d tell us to cremate her and spread her ashes a
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Comments67
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This is perfect.