the shrine

wpid-img_20140509_111701.jpgAn inspiration wall is forming in my office. Or maybe I should call it a shrine. The portrait of the Dalai Lama I so crudely plastered with stickers is now flanked by Post-it notes bearing abandoned lines of poetry that I kept because I think they’re pretty even if they don’t seem to belong anywhere. Above the portrait is a photo of me with my sister and one brother on our way to the only Mardi Gras ball we ever attended. The people-watching was great that night — a veritable zoo of our childhood friends dressed to the nines and drunk as hell. Each of us in the picture embodies something I want to bring to my writing. Katie stirs up trouble but gets away with it because she’s cute. John is the stone cold badass who sees through all bullshit and thinks you should too. And then there’s me, the sassy one who can’t keep her mouth shut. That’s why I get to be narrator. And finally there are the bunny ears. No big meaning there. Just for fun.

at the flea market
a little bit of silence

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