Wednesday, April 2, 2008. I've been wearing the same shirt for three days now. I've been wearing these jeans for a month. This is your morning wake-up call.
(A series of quilts and women making them.)
Hide in the cabinet. Under sheets. Under blankets your mother folded away after the last of the winter's storm. Snow traipsed in the open window, settling on the bed side table, some hanging on corners now hanging from the shelf. Rest your brow up high in the corner, focusing your eye, centering in on the shadow. Let them flutter until you fall back through all of the pillows and ash, blankets still smelling of winter's drying eyes and the burning wisps from space heating one morning too long. It's time to break open the windows. Wake up.
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