for Tracey
You, size-4 wearer, writer of lovely stories... you're like ripe strawberries
piled high atop sweet buttery shortcake, whipped cream dolloped and dripping
down your sides. You're like Nastasha Kinski's berry-stained lips, from that
scene in Tess. Do you know how much I envy you, seeing you living the life I
wanted. I see right through you, almost; you are as translucent as the clear
red plastic that wraps the tray of chocolate chip cookies. Inside you're filled
with luscious sweets.
We are bound, chained by a piece of ephemera like the silver cord that kept
me attached to myself when I had the little accident, strong as a spider's web.
While you travel, I'll stay here, holding the string so you don't get too far.
Wizard of Oz. I am the little dog. You are the ruby slippers. Click. Click.
Click.
copyright 1999, marie mundaca. all rights reserved.