and they ain't friends so far, my words they don't travel far. they tangle in my hair and tend to go nowhere right past my brain and eyes into my stomach juice where they don't serve much use.
I miss figs and the way they would taste after I shimmied up the tree barefoot in my pajamas. How my dad would get angry at me for running outside with no shoes on because my feet might get infected and fall off. But I liked the feeling of grass beneath my toes and bark scraping against my heel so I ignored him and did it anyway. I could have spent days sitting on those branches of leafy green.
