Flowers toss their heads outside the window. I see wild birds, and impulses wilder than the wildest birds strike from my wild heart. My eyes are wild; my lips tight pressed. The bird flies; the flower dances; but I hear always the sullen thud of the waves; and the chained beast stamps on the beach. It stamps and stamps.
my mother and i are known more for our long-winded arguments and power struggles than we are for token gestures, but i love her below (above?) all that. she’s not one for presents, but the sun just peeked out from behind the sullen amalgam of cloud and fog, and my bike deserves to be used for its intended purpose. as do we all, in the end.
and my grandmother? i missed her birthday dinner in favor of singing in my school choir’s spring concert, and she is always surprised and delighted by spontaneous expressions of love and gratitude. i wholly resemble her in this respect, and this is all i need do to light up her entire week. i’m happy to oblige.