Monologue So I Can SleepMelissa Barrett
It happens too easy, and always with the right person: such a marriageable creature. My proclivity to men hangs like a shade of pricetags, running my mind as a sleigh over puddled ice. Love is slick, obscuring, and mine: the textbook case of tunnel vision. Slowly, furtively, he’ll loose the grommets of my liturgy, all the poems I want to write. My brain skids back, the clock goes. A woman on the radio said loneliness afforded her the time to learn quilting. Nascent daughter— I could buy you these barrettes, my mother tossing them in the cart— Imagine: saffron and navy, thumbed herringbone . . . The importance of one thread.
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