Sunday, March 6, 2011


This is both an explanation and riddle.

Guess what this is Prologue to:


It was winter so no one heard her screams.

She screamed at jars that wouldn’t open.

At phone calls from toll free numbers.

At meowing cats.

None of these was cause for screaming.

Fathoms deep in her psyche, unidentified pain tore out from her throat.

Avoided too long, it had metacicized.

Numb, she wandered her house – every room distinct, pleasing, filled with aspects of her life, her character, her taste. Travel souvenirs, photographs, paintings.

None of these was cause for screaming.

In the guest room: family photographs, her grandmother’s desk, a braid of buttons.

She stood, tears threatening.

“Help me,” she whispered, “please, please help me.”

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