a butterfly making a lazy attempt to slip the invisible window, antennae
turned back toward the pond. It pushes the whole of its throax against the
Daily, Mama complains, The leaves have not changed colors yet!
The leaves have not changed colors! The words fly around in
our sleep. She wants to clear out, but the problem with emptiness is that
it can't be left behind.
I want to yell, too. But resting the bone of my head against the cold of
the window pane, I look out toward the macadam.
Isabella Cruz lives in Florida. She works as a copywriter.
Detail of photo on main page courtesy
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