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Flower
Published Jan 29, 2024
Updated Jan 29, 2024
Culture
1 min
Culture
Published Jan 29, 2024
Updated Jan 29, 2024
1 min
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314 readings
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Flower
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I’m writing this against death.
A green flower on the table against death.
The sun is shining in through the window right now against death.
You sit in the yellow chair against death.
The butter is marble-hard against death.
I’m still going to make toast.
The neighbor has been hammering the wall
for weeks now against death.
We walk along the embankment against death,
take bulbs, big breaths,
stare at the water,
like a grey photograph of distant relatives,
none of whom
we ever knew.
We waste time, like so, against death.
We separate our trash against death.
Under the sea-green blanket against death.
We sit without a sound for a long time against death.
Numb for minutes at a time against death,
after closing the laptop.
We’re laughing
314 readings
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