Memory is fluid and fickle, but words on paper, a screen, or recorded on a smart phone have a strange ‘substance’, and we writers know this instinctively. But I am stumbling, it is so hard to explain this moment, and my perception of it, to anyone else, but I keep trying, and in less than seventeen syllables. Am I shooting for a miracle? The longer I try, the more doubt clings to each word. I am so frustrated, and now I just want to put this one behind me. But I just can’t stop thinking about it!
mosquitoes follow me
into the men’s room
First published in: A Hundred Grouds!