Sunday, May 20, 2012

Thousand: Seven Hundred Fifty-Four

in a bob, the blonde hiding the gray. Those crepe-soled shoes. Or are they pumps? Did you ever see her wearing pumps? What’s the highest heel you ever saw her wear? Standing on the edge of a cliff, her toes wiggling over the precipice, the whole mountain lifting her heel. Then a tiny white streak through the many-colored stars that made you gasp, and she laughed, making you self-conscious. You touch the gate post, a little dizzy. The thorns of the roses look threatening, like claws that want to catch you, that want to dig into your clothes, into your

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