“Oh, a storm is threat’ning my very life today . . .”
Hips saddle the cushion, spine like rebar, gaze downcast—fixed at six-o’clock. Dong! The bell drones— follow the breath. One. Two. Three. My gaze slips. I spy the lattice of plump veins on my hands. Thinking knits blood donor, vampires, my grandmother into a seductive shawl—I remember. Dong!
I felt a thick soreness in my throat followed by thoughts of avian flu. Hedging my bets, I advanced to purchase an arsenal of natural remedies when I was halted by the sight of pollen draped across the windshield of my car, thick as Frida Kahlo’s distinguished unibrow. Continue reading “You Say “Queen” As If It Is a Bad Thing”