Tagged Creative Challenge #5

Buttered Walls

The morning after the Berlin wall fell, I ate cocoa puffs, my husband says. He was three, just learning to grasp at the slippery slope of memory, still too young to know what exclusion meant, to know what walls could signify. As for me, I remained stubbornly unborn, as I would for another three years,…

Cleaning Up

Trying to clean us up feels like sorting trash the morning after in a dress and six inch heels. Loosely holding hearts, we two stumbled to a slippery place, your ruffled shirt tattered, my formal in shreds. We used worn-out rags, our only remnants, to dust without moving the knickknacks, left sparkling splotches on our…