 |
|
|
A Sort of Security Blanket by Stephanie Kilen December 13, 2006 It is the way the curtains are lifted by the breeze the way they sigh like big bloused women who know something It is their only purpose that, and the 4 o'clock light drenching the room in a sort of sweatv making us feel transparent I imagine it will feel the same way when we are old how could it change, really? this karmic scene played over and over punctuated by street noise and your exhales blushing my cheeks and painting my eyelashes About the author: I am a writer living in the Washington Heights neighborhood of Milwaukee, which is like a diverse, urban Lake Wobegon with an edge (because we live so close to each other and not many people hang curtains). I have written everything from newspaper articles on the annual racoon dinner to books on nursing home leadership reform. I have recently gotten back to poetry after recovering from the embarrassment of reading my own teenage angst poems. I live with my husband/co-conspirator and our fox hound/lab, the Bear, who is never more than three feet from my side. | | | |
First Person Archive Most recent: 2008 November October September August July June May April March February January 2007 December November October September August July June May April March February January 2006 December September | |
 |
|
|
