// the rose,
// the old lady ridiculous with death and child-size again,
// the coincidence of me and morning always,
// bus stops,
// and reverberations of impossible pain.
you are the collision of these fragments.
out of many anecdotes,
you are a story.
you in particular,
you who are the only one who read of 10 deaths by napalm while the radio was playing “downtown” and the lady with the white dog walked into the store.
×barbara ehrenreich ×
living with a wild god: a nonbeliever’s search for the truth about everything