by Anna McCullough
The Lunchladies know. But it's taken too long for them to listen and understand the rain's message on the cafeteria windows that the voices inside are corrosive by being trivial and having no other purpose than masking the gentle voice of the rain touching and sliding in defeat and misery down the impassive glass. Some think they hear things and with uneasy eyes wander about the tomb but they always ignore the clean sobbing voice that whispers 'come come outside and let us cleanse you of the dead ashes that surround you' as the byproduct of babble polluting the air and dying as a lit match forced into a stream of running water, letting the gray flakes sink into you and burrow deeper with each sharp 's' and dizzy like if you do not listen the ashes will reach your soul-- and turn it to stone.
About the Author:
Anna McCullough has previously written "Beauty" which appeared in the July, 1997 issue of Grrowl!
What do you think?
[hairy legs] [home cooked meal] [in your hands] [all night]