Breadstick, gutter, pour, drip

the fun was in the making

"Greasy? No" the breadsticks. She made them religiously with Pillsbury. We loved here and her green table. The Tiffany
Refracting lamp.
In
Summertime
Swans
Invaded the Korean garden.
News is taking its toll on the world
Or the world on it.

Grisly bears in the forest.
Rhizomes in the heat.
Othello is a fellow, and
Notices are neat.
Daniel's with the Lions,
And David's with the sheep.
Ishmael cried for pardon,
Abraham for to weep.

Grow our corn, farmer dear
Reopen the box you packed away
Ourselves are a season apart,
Needing some reason to continue
Dares the spirit well. She was a girl
Almost too lovely for her own
Reaching across the playground;
Ethery Ethel recalls in the hospital.

Grown too cold in the stillness of the Dearborn minute. Deerpark water and John Deere are cut from the same cloth.
Rachel grows weary of her son; his father wants him, to see him a continent apart. Why are the rhizomes merry?
Or, tell me, prophet, why are the rhizomes meet? We need a proper penny to throw down in the street.
November is colder than October and the season will be as it is in this adventure world. Send me into a funnel cake.
Dare me to eat meat. You didn't play hopscotch with the cool kids on to the beat. Have you seen the muffin man?
A baby in the forest didn't like that. He didn't want to go to his father's he said because it was boring. Still his father
Remembers something of his past life. What a funny monkey to jump from tree to tree and play the guitar, why did
Ends become means, if the end is only the beginning. Write your name in the Book of Legends and God will in the
Divine Book of Life. That's what we heard and we hear it to be truth. Settle for the mettle of the unaccounted for
Igloo booth. I didn't say it was funny. I didn't say it was coy. I didn't get the rhythm or care for Almond Joy. No
Snickers were better, snickers were fine, the commercials all said at quarter to nine. They really satisfy you. Mounds
Unfortunately did not have nuts. We were not afraid to let them operate on our brains if we were zombies, Then
Don't keep baiting the poor woman, said Eglantine. Bed knobs and Broomsticks are miles away. The town was happy
Orion and his belt. Now lay me down to sleep, Betty, we got another goat. The old man whittles the pretty day
Risking nothing for his old age and his old patch of grass. The old maid in her rocker and the funny little makeshift
Eiderdown. Stuffing for pillows. Time to rest until the next afterlife, another summer, another type of winter.

© 2014 Maglia Weaver Twill

My Review

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Reviews

KWP

Ahhh I disagree with Jahanvi - a mother can grow weary of her son, it may be just for a passing moment, but it can happen, it doesn't mean that the love disappears ... With that said I enjoyed this read very much ... the style the tone the pace the switching of form, the tiny sentences not allowing pause and instead jumoing away to a new found direction.

Fabulous and thought inspiring work - Thank you xx

Posted 9 Years Ago

9 Years Ago

gracious KWP, thanks

Jen

The question is: why does Rachel grows weary of her son as no mother will do ever? Nice story though. You tried too hard to jot the words. Interesting to read. Thanks for sharing your writing here.