06.10.04: New design. Got rid of the art and tape trading sections since I don't really trade
anymore. Lots of new poetry.
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We shuffled back and forth
from the oven to the porch, laying plates
on the green tablecloth, speckled with
dirt, laying food
on the plates, vacillating from the heat
to chilly breeze.
We heard the oblivious roar
of a jet engine overhead,
watched the ice melt in the lemonade pitcher.
You cleared your throat and
told me you’d be back soon, as
soon as possible, as if
you wanted me to believe
both of our lives would stop until
you returned.
Out the window, the neighbors’ Clydesdale
nickered in the tall grass.
The sun went down. We laid out
on the dewy lawn, the earth spinning
on its celestial gyroscope.
You started babbling inanities.
It’s the way you act when you want
not to care.
Your fingers picked nervously at
the hem of my shirt, rolling tiny white
balls of cotton from the fabric and flicking
them away and
you kissed my forehead, three times. Each kiss
was a promise to return.
But you haven’t got the
build of a hero
and I’ve never learned to weave.
--Molly Herrick 07.09.03
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