|November 7, 2011|
I am moving all the furniture out of my grandmother's house. The smell is of saw dust and plaster and roses. Faint traces of lipstick and coffee linger at the nose of the scent. I pull the table to the room's center while the boxes of fabric still are piled on top of it. Power tools are mixed in with the sewing machines and vintage jewelry. I hear the cat purring by my head and am pulled away from my grandmother's back into my sleeping body.
I move the cat who is pushing his claws kneadfully into the waft of my hair on my pillow. He hunkers down, purring and grumbling about my interruption in is nuzzling. Claws dig into my scalp and then the cat goes flying.
I turn my pillow in an attempt to fall back to sleep. I begin to count the chairs tucked against the wall at my grandmother's house- the same room in which I was pushingpulling boxes just moments before in that other parcel of my mindworld.
|November 6, 2011|