Holly Day
Thursday The sun comes out and things are growing but the world is dying so I don’t care. The tips of tulips are poking through the piles of dead leaves, dark green and purple-edged the red tips of peonies are stretching up and out towards the sun but even these signs of life can’t convince me that there will be a tomorrow. Inside, my daughter yells at her computer, something about how her online school sucks the dog paws at the door to come out and sit with me on the porch and I let her out and hug her because I can’t get sick from hugging my dog I can’t get my dog sick by hugging her. Flocks of sparrows and goldfinches flutter around the birdfeeder oblivious to the end of the world, untouched by the end of the world. I reach into the bag of bird food and toss more and more handfuls out to them finding temporary amusement at their delight. Rabbits and squirrels fight over the crocus bulbs hidden under the melting snow, I don’t chase them away from my garden because this is their world now. Pretending There’s a girl on stage and she’s so engaging, everyone’s laughing at her jokes and for a brief moment, I imagine I could be like her, I could also perform I could stand up there on stage and speak loudly and clearly and call out various people from the audience, make jokes about their careers or hair or dates or just say something really amazing and profound that would make people nod their heads and scratch their chins and go home and think about the things I said. Instead, it’s me going home and I’m pretending that yes, I really could do that if I practiced in front of the bathroom mirror or to the cat, I could climb up on stage wave my arms and say deep or funny things, wear something ridiculous that would fold itself seamlessly into the act and just be someone someone that other people notice. |
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Flutter
With increasing haste, we spread ourselves out among the stars like the scattered seeds of a dandelion head fleeing from a planet that finally gave up on itself, on us. We speak of the promise of adventure loudly, as if we really don’t care that we can’t live here anymore say there are other planets out there so much better than this one but in hushed tones, and behind closed doors we talk about things we could have done to save the world promise we’ll do better next time around. Holly Day’s writing has recently appeared in Analog SF, The Hong Kong Review, and Appalachian Journal, and her recent book publications include Music Composition for Dummies, The Tooth Is the Largest Organ in the Human Body, and Bound in Ice. She teaches creative writing at The Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis and Hugo House in Seattle. |