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Brat: What's wrong with you, aunty Ami said you were sick? The Mother: I'm the Capt. Ahab of my life. Brat: Aunty Ami said you are clumsy. The Mother: Aunty Ami smokes marijuana and thinks you are a glass doll. Brat: What is the Garden of Eden? The Mother: It's a place where everything wanted to live as God and everything has its time, especially the serpent. Finish your dinner. Brat: What happens when I get old? The Mother: You will collect dust on a bookshelf, why so many questions, I have a headache. Brat: Why do you wear glasses instead of contacts like aunty Ami. The Mother: Because sometimes, brat , I can't see the light that life has to offer. The mouth, shut it. Brat: Aunty Ami says you are mean, why are people mean? The Mother: Because they grow up, because when they're a brat like you, they think of only stupid things, asinine questions and the invincible dreams of a child. Brat: What were your dreams when...

Cutpurse

Again. More distressed than I was. Again. Sorrowful of all. Grieving. Again. Unbearably unhappy. Again.

Dawn

The coffin almost matches the dirt. It's an unhappy red to sleep in the soft, old clay. The 5th month, the 12th day of the month, I don't know the year, the priest stands by the river repeating a sermon, I feel like the sun breaking through the snow, impregnated with thoughts of rubies and bright, shiny things that are meaningless. Palms upward, gloomily standing and seeing all that is buried like gems, the parachutes of reality falling slowly like the freezing flakes that aren't there. Cloudbursts, heavy droplets of fat blue rain like medicine on my protruding tongue. The Heavens open for me, it's a great fire and unbelievable brightness, inhuman torches and you should kneel. Kneeling, I hear the growl of thunderous lions and the birds grow quiet, elegant wings arch upward, the sun-scorched bodies no longer alive. Everything is burnt brass on the muddy riverside and shimmers like newborn diamonds deep in an eyeless mine no one will ever find. My sad, horrible eyes cl...

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