Thursday, June 18, 2015

A small room inside a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.

Atop my table, where yesterday stood a vase (and inside that vase, a dried-out rose), a stack of magazines, and atop that, a pair of nose scissors.

Yesterday I cut from these magazines anything I could find of our bodies' holes: nostrils, open mouths, anything.

Once gathered, I arranged these holes into a seven-petalled flower, which I glued to a piece of straw that fell from my neighbour's broom.

Today's vase will have in it that flower.

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