Work in Progress - December 1
December 1
11 p.m.
I wake up in the neighbor’s ocean. The whole house lights up, but it isn’t pretty and calm like
the twinkling lights of celebration. These are loud, “What are you doing in my backyard?” lights.
They don’t tell me how I arrived here or where my boyfriend is. My thoughts are a mash of stuff -
vodka and orange juice, wine, cheese - the reader in my hand (what’s it doing here?) and why am
I wearing my prom dress?
I open the reader on the drive home:
The bird morphs into an old speedboat, an unremarkable one. She isn’t glossy on the outside.
Ours is a racer past her prime, faded yellow and easy to miss. We rescue the girl in the glittering dress,
I wonder what Aphrodite will say when she sees her.
the twinkling lights of celebration. These are loud, “What are you doing in my backyard?” lights.
They don’t tell me how I arrived here or where my boyfriend is. My thoughts are a mash of stuff -
vodka and orange juice, wine, cheese - the reader in my hand (what’s it doing here?) and why am
I wearing my prom dress?
I open the reader on the drive home:
The bird morphs into an old speedboat, an unremarkable one. She isn’t glossy on the outside.
Ours is a racer past her prime, faded yellow and easy to miss. We rescue the girl in the glittering dress,
I wonder what Aphrodite will say when she sees her.
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