Friday, February 18, 2005
I Am The Face Underneath The Apple On Top Of Mrs. Burroughs' Head...
I just heard something break. At first I thought that it came from the kitchen. I've craned my neck to see where it came from. It wasn't from the kitchen. It couldn't have come from outside, because the crash was too loud. It couldn't have come from the next room. The cats are right by me. Nothing has fallen off of the shelves. There are no pictures on the floor.
What was it?
Should I get up and investigate?
And where did it come from?
It sounded loud.
It sounded heavy.
It sounded valuable.
I can't replace it.
Whatever it was...
I could hear it saying a million, tiny goodbyes.