March 15, 2006

There’s the girl I want to be. I can always see her on sunny afternoons like this: little one sleeping, coffee drinking, blue, blue, blue sky shining, naked branches, music playing, fridge humming along. And all of a moment I am her already, and I see that, and I slice off the skin of the dried dreariness from the grey morning and I am freshly peeled, a sweet fruit, soft and sugary, with a stone centre that you might crack a tooth on, or grow a tree from.