The Battlefield Where the Girls Say I Love You



That's just the thing: we will never tell you we love you. In fact, we're here only to hold hands across state lines and yell at the world. We're here to try to touch you across this chasm of flown things. Not even that. At most, I will teach you how to make a gin smoothie when there's nothing left in the house. Hannah can teach you several languages and what to do when your car breaks up with you. Thanks for coming out.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

audrey can't see, clark. her eyes are frozen shut.

she wasn't kidding about the scarves. she wasn't kidding about luring carlyle into taking this picture. none of the back story matters, really. only, it's 75 degrees outside. morgan refuses any scarf other than this magenta feather boa. luke swaddles himself in a red pashmina, much to his father's concern. all fancy schmancy cameras break in unison (i'm serious); the only camera left is my kodak disposable. when my mother screams "close up!!!" carlyle actually has to walk right up to us. "you people look crazy."

2 comments:

eric said...

Like a Scarf
by James Tate

The directions to the lunatic asylum were confusing;
most likely they were the random associations
and confused ramblings of a lunatic.
We arrived three hours late for lunch
and the lunatics were stacked up on their shelves,
quite neatly, I might add, giving credit where credit is due.

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poem.html?id=179800

hannah said...

eric: perfect.

mame: i'm going to give the kids bottles of vodka for our xmas photo. and overalls.