graphics mode c r o s s X c o n n e c t previous | next

| main page
| issue contents
| contributors
| e-mail us
   t h e    y e a r    m y    h a i r    w e n t    s t r a i g h t

--- S A R A H   S C H E C K T E R

Searching old friends to see who I was.

In between that and happiness is not constant. Other states are ok. Maryland has brackish water, Delaware is cramped.

The girl upstairs is slamming paper grocery bags down in front of her door. I wonder if she’s finished upholstering her overstuffed chair. In the old days, when people had to hunt and whittle, rough skin meant something and work never stopped.

Through the gauze curtains, I see the mail carrier.

A thick feeling of uncertainty only assuaged by talking to people I know. Grisly images at the wrong times, shutting the car door, crossing in front of a bus. Mortal every second. Looking at your back.

Rinsing dishes. Every day I dirty things and try to clean them.

© crossconnect, inc 1995-2006 |
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |