Sunday, November 1, 2020

hidden behind the leaves


rice gruel alone in the refectory, late and alone, if cookie would thicken it a bit be like oatmeal ... but suggestions made again and again become sharp thorn in buttocks, no doubt that frowning rebuke and sullen silence saying loud ouch; and hers to come visit how long gone from there or here, how quickly gone, how quickly gone ... spoon poised over chipped brown bowl, door slam, if wishes were beggars, says master ko, horses would fly

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