Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Difficulty Strikes

It's not the time itself. It's the absence. The dull draining away of life and youth. I am watching it seep into the nooks and crannies. I have climbed upon my patchwork quilt, to keep my feet from being stained by all the colors on the floor--liquid green and muddy red, slimy yellow and slick orange. My raincoat, stained, lies on the floor, where I can't reach it.

"Mommy!" I scream.

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M is for Margaret, who was swept out to sea...