Mostly, however, I see the mothers I know in glimpses, bent like shepherdess crooks, scanning the floor for tiny Legos or half-chewed grapes or the people they once were slumped in the corners.
“Ghosts and Empties” by Lauren Groff (2015)
Month: August 2015
#218
Asada burrito from La Norteña Market on SW 124th Avenue. Beaverton, OR.
There’s the man who hisses nasties as he stands under the light outside a bodega with bars over its windows. I put on my don’t-fuck-with-me face, and he has yet to do more than hiss, but there is a part of me that is more than ready, that wants to use what’s building up.
“Ghosts and Empties” by Lauren Groff (2015)
There’s the man who hisses nasties as he stands under the light outside a bodega with bars over its windows. I put on my don’t-fuck-with-me face, and he has yet to do more than hiss, but there is a part of me that is more than ready, that wants to use what’s building up.
“Ghosts and Empties” by Lauren Groff (2015)
#217
Carnitas burrito from Taqueria El Jalapeño on SW 12th Street. Sherwood, OR.
From the many-roomed black temple, he had stepped into a universe of fractured patterns. There was no relief from their implacable mathematics. Designs formed and re-formed. Hard-edged triangles joined and split in an endless geometry. If this was death, it was visually exhausting.
“The Flower” by Louise Erdrich (2015)
From the many-roomed black temple, he had stepped into a universe of fractured patterns. There was no relief from their implacable mathematics. Designs formed and re-formed. Hard-edged triangles joined and split in an endless geometry. If this was death, it was visually exhausting.
“The Flower” by Louise Erdrich (2015)
#216
Pastor chicken burrito from Sanchez Taqueria on 99W. Tigard, OR.
Mood lighting.
#215
Pastor chicken burrito from Sanchez Taqueria on 99W. Tigard, OR.
And now you know my taste in literature.
You’re in love with her. It’s probably the hopeless ferocity of your love that impels you to stand firm, to refuse her refusal–she who has, on the one hand, succeeded spectacularly and, on the other, consented to what must be, at best, a chilly and brutal marriage. You can’t simply relent and walk back out of the room. You can’t bring yourself to be so debased.
“Little Man” by Michael Cunningham (2015)