Friday, January 2, 2015

Like this morning

She was one of those cousins I'd never known about. Darker skin gloved in a white turtleneck. Texas, December. Soft nest of black hair - part tumbleweed, lint and 100% Annette Funicello. Their truck descended the horse field, dropped us at the filing station. "We'll walk back," I said. The party was in back. A rattlesnake stuck out of a manhole, terrestrial eel, a solitary stamen waving about the throat of a cement underground flower disappearing into the earth. Fifty of her closest friends were situated around big bowls of chips. I was happy. Everything new makes me happy.

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