Monday, September 27, 2010


She brought her knees towards her chest and her body became a lightning bolt. He placed the thin sheet that had crumpled at her feet over her body, being careful not to close the circuit. At this point, he would have liked to be in possession of a broomstick, mop handle or something of the like. He would fasten a piece of timber between her thighs, and align it with the little ceramic knob marking the center of the bowl of light attached to his ceiling. Rippled linens would cascade like a circus tent around her body. If she opened her eyes at that moment she would have been disappointed. From the inside should wouldn’t have seen the eight tiny men that pulled to the east and west with all their gust to keep the structure erect. This is how she thought of tents as a child. Nevertheless, it was good that in his imagined moment she didn’t wake. She would have laughed at the image of the eight little men. The cut of her laughter would have only infuriated him more. He couldn’t conceive of such visions on his own.

*this lovely image was borrowed from the wonderful Kim's post The Days of Blanket Houses


not wendy said...

This is so, so wonderful.

Kennedy said...

that picture is a dream!

lavender lullabye said...

beautiful picture. perfect words.