Monday, April 14, 2008
APPLIANCE
On the forlorn formica counter is the old muttered toaster, which choked out toast
grounded in such personal detail, full of dirt, grubby roots and lost teeth,
that it became a presence in the kitchen itself,
a sharp-jawed repository of memory, willing to come alive, while you remained still
and everything around you moved too quickly. Funny, the things our minds will latch on to.
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CALL ME ISHMAEL You know why? Because I said so. If I live long enough to make it to an airport without losing any oxygen, if I use my mo...
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