Under My Bunned Hair

February 10, 2014

In the Blue Plate diner the dishes crash, the screen door yawns and lets in a warm breeze, and cotton fields hang on walls while I beat my knuckles against the Quarter-at-Goodwill table. I’ve got a rhythm down by now. My fantasies are my active engines, powering me through mediocre days. My cool hands grip my apple-juice glass and I […]