A tisket, a tasket

3-24-08

She was going along, minding her own business. For the most part. There are always the prickles and the pixels that block the view or scratch the skin, the split-second worries--"Children get under your desks. This is a test. If this were an actual nuclear attack... ." But mostly, the little worry pools evaporate. With the right light, she can watch the particles float up and become part of the sky.

But then this thing went down, not up. It didn't evaporate. It materialized. And then dropped. Like a set of keys. A big bulky custodial set, only silent. On the ground. Crouching down to look from another angle, she can slide along that metaphor. Keys, even spilled, can still open doors. Okay, fine.

But the thing is, she's been going along for quite some time looking for the door. If she has the keys, then where is the door? She imagines it will be giant, with chipping paint, heavy and near impossible to push open just with a hand. A whole body kind of push will be required. Of course it's possible that it's just a series of miniature doors, one after the other, with life-sized locks for the fallen keys. Either way, the doors are hard to find. Unless she's been going through them ever since and only half realizing it.

Like keys. But not. Like a tissue. Like a friend. Like an envelope. It didn't make much of a sound. It was soft. It crumpled. It slid. Pigmied. She was carrying it and she dropped it. A tisket, a tasket kind of thing. The green and yellow basket. Wrote a letter to my love and on the way...

The letter. The dropped letter. It was shaped like a G.