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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4028 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Chicken Little was a Woman Treezaa (T. E. Ballard) The sky fell in small slivers silver as pins, the flat touching her skin then the tip. Her arms and legs were red like poppies blooming and when the larger sections fell they were clouds: a man, a house, a slice of bread. She fed herself on illusions, the white milk leaving its trace on her lip. It was if all life was this falling, falling through fingers. When they first called her crazy she gathered their shapes, strung them together like beads; an abacus of dreams. She explained the sky how it died like a woman turning blue, then pink. She explained the night to a be man, his body a coat, the colors of morning slipping out of a sleeve. It was then they cut out her tongue and shaped her mouth as a beak. |
