Sep 8, 2002
Full Lips. Wide Hips. Tall Ships.
There was a picture in my head. A great port with a drift of haze looming over dark blue waters, tipped in chalky foam. Billowing sails on staggered masts. A web of rope and iron. They sailed for the docks in fleet formation. The men on deck shouted to one another, but no voices could be heard. A girl standing on the harbor, feet wide apart, hands thrust in pockets, shoulders turned just so, into the chilling wind, with hair blowing and eyes slitted -- was it me? It was.
There are places I go in cold medicine-induced slumber that I may never see.
posted by Mary Forrest at 4:57 AM | Back to Monoblog