Fresh Start

first pubbed ezine and podcast:  10-2011

He dumped you; hard.  You decorated his smell out of the apartment.

Later, as you chased a rag up and down the new heron-leg stools and along the front of the Uba Tooba counter; as you polished the rubber plant; gave the prayer rug a shake; combed the sand on the end table with a tiny rake;  artfully managed not to disturb the bonsai or knock the crystals from advantageous points in the high corners while you dusted;

the edge of the golden gong silently sliced your index finger.  A smile of blood slowly formed.  Impulsively, you wiped it on the flat brass face.  Your missing peace settled on the apartment like warm rain.  You struck the gong and your ears echoed the thin roar, shedding voices, dislodging hurtful jibes.  You struck again.

Again.

Again.

You clean weekly, since then, but gong daily.  A drop of blood keeps it real.  The gong is the color of rich oxblood shoe leather.  You see the good place you are in reflected in its face.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s