© Sucking in Liquid Thoughts While Rocking on Creaking Wood Floors

With the immediacy of a small child, she elbowed her sister and whispered, “I know what you two did. Don’t give me that look as though I’ve been reading too much Jules Vern and don’t try to convince me you two were building a time machine.”

She scrutinized her sister, and, with a devilish twinkle in her eyes, continued. 

“Is it just my imagination, dear sister, or is your hair a bit whiter than it used to be? Who’d have thought it possible?”

After her sister left in anger, the old lady sat thinking of her husband while...

Sucking in Liquid Thoughts While Rocking on Creaking Wood Floors

My mind's in a Tuesday stupor and I can't seem to unlace my thoughts—

It's like looking at the sun, then a piece of paper, and seeing only sunspots;

or like radio silence but not caring because your frequency wasn't right for me;

but mostly, it is like you were the breath of sarcasm and I was whimsicality.

But you stopped communicating and I still jumped through hoops to tune you in.

I don't cry anymore because it was on my floor you slipped and shed your onionskin...

I've scrubbed the tiles a million times (a slight exaggeration on my part),

And all I can tell you is this; the kitchen still carries the smell of you, you old fart.

Mimi Wolske

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