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Literature Text
I keep the track
in spite of the pouring rain
leading towards home
in spite of the pouring rain
leading towards home
Literature
The Other's Orange Flowers
My brother’s asleep on the couch and I have a pen in my hand. At first I was going to draw on his face, but that would wake him up. So I turn the pen upside down and dangle the orange feather at the end just above his nose.
“What are you doing, Allie?” he asks without opening his eyes. I sweep the feather across his nose. He looks and his face wrinkles up. “Orange.”
“It’s just a colour,” I say. “I’m looking after you. Mum told me to.”
He pushes me off the couch with one hand and I slump onto the floor. “You’re too little to look after me, Allie.”
“But yo
Literature
coffee paint
i watch the coffee pot do cannonballs
through the air and bellyflop into the
kitchen wall-
glass licks the air in cartwheel spins
and coffee stains melt down the paint and boil
into the wood of the cutting board like
liquid sandpaper
and i think to myself-
this is better than a picasso.
Literature
Here Is No Why
The bus was late. In the four switches Ben had made so far, he had come to accept lateness as an unavoidable part of this mode of travel. The first three times, he had been irritated. Now, at a little after eleven at night, he really didn’t care. If the bus was at least running, he would be happy. Working air conditioning was a bonus. Timeliness was asking too much.
He wished he could call Mae again, even though he had just talked to her half an hour ago. It had been a little over two weeks since he had seen his fiancée, and hearing her voice helped ease his frustration. But it was late, and she had gone to bed. She would still ans
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