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.