Are you drunk?, she asked. I was lying down. I said I wasn’t. The truth was, I liked her advice more after a few drinks. I liked calling people and listening when I came home from happy hour. Like I was saying.  I could hear music in the background. You’re not supposed to go to bed mad at each other, my grandmother told me. She winced in pain when she said it. I could hear it over the phone, the hum of violins behind it. She’s not allowed to drink anymore. No more scotch, no more wine. If you go to sleep mad, you’ll wake up with a bad back. She was silent for a moment. I turned on my side. The ruins of the stress on an old mattress run deep.


3 responses to “Seamless

  1. Very nice poem. I really dig these prose/poetry forms that you are using in some of these writings. I have delved into that myself, without much success, but I’m still fascinated by the form. Well done. Great picture, plot, and history in so few lines.

    Have you ever read the poem, Snow, by Robert Frost? It’s very much in this same form – although much longer. He has many great examples of prose/poetry that I have been falling in love with in recent weeks. Just can’t seem to get enough of em. Well, being high or intoxicated makes them even more appealing. But I digress.

    Here is that poem, “Snow.”

    Can’t wait to read more.

  2. ah so glad you started posting again!

  3. Thanks for the support, guys. I’m trying to get back on the horse.

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