from bed, Kathy

Kathy was suspicious of the way he walked

I couldn’t blame her

Seth had a way of rushing around

Even when he wasn’t in a hurry

Her nerves were usually shot

In the dark is where they’d start she’d blow out the candle and he’d depart not before saying happy birthday dear a fading sound and clink of the door Kathy sat wondering, ‘what more’?

what more did she want with second grade knowledge an understanding of font, at least the ones her teachers hated and they were the ones who sat and graded her experiences and abilities trapped sensibilities reworded casualties a disdain for realities that involve everyone but her. unless the plastic fruit bowls sat on all their kitchen tables while fruit flies followed her dumpster bananas into Thursday night when ‘he’ came to provide light and undress her mom

Kathy knew this couldn’t be it and wouldn’t just sit when the counselors goaded her down a path of welding or mechanics. she could give no fucks about her hands – they were used enough. she dreamt of zebra legs holding vases while dahlias dripped off Abe Lincoln’s faces and she knew we all had two though some three or four. she cradled thoughts of mongols rushing the delaware and st.nick standing in his underwear wondering where the ape people went. purple passion parties with kings and queens greeted her at sunrise a surprise for living though the candle cries of her little sister learning what ‘don’t touch the heat’ means.

she drifted through classes left alone to daydream in the back right corner, until he spotted her.

she quickly shot up

he saw her

she shifted in her seat

‘do you have a pencil’

she scrambled for her bag

fumbling through folded permission slips never signed and reports that she was doing ‘fine’

he was gone before she could say

‘no’

she went back to Bolsheviks riding elephants to the moon.

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