Day Three Hundred and Forty-Nine.


Today’s theme: old people.

Izzy circle


we wrapped each other up in our skins
so tight and wild and wrinkle-free

we wrapped each other up so tight
I couldn’t tell who was you and who was me


Sarah circle


‘When I was your age’, he says, just to see their eyes roll. And then he mumbles things to see if they’ll hear him, to see if they’ll ask him to say it again, to see if this will be the time that he’ll tell them the story, the big one, the one from the earth to the stars and back round again.
He mumbles: ‘Space smells like burnt sugar.’
He mumbles: ‘I can breathe underwater.’
He mumbles: ‘The Marianas Trench is deeper than you can imagine.’
Teacups rattle on unwanted saucers. His granddaughter punches her Furby and cries when it doesn’t.
He mumbles: ‘My knees are patched with rubber.’
He mumbles: ‘I kissed the curve of the horizon.’
He mumbles: ‘I swam in the tears of an angel.’
Someone sighs and wipes the dribble from his chin.



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