Three-quarter-fat moons
A mauvish, immaculately grey man-made lake, edged in woolly, unruly pine tree cutouts
Glen Miller from a car, with a bike in the back seat
Virg: It’s times like these that I realize why I’m glad I’m not fat.
Everyone else: glad I’m not: ungrateful, sick of life, of the unexpected. planned. pretentious. afraid of water. afraid of letting go, letting in, giving up. afraid of what they think. glad I’m not dumb, too old, too tired to learn, to change, to go for a swim, when the road ends at water.
Virg: This is why everything I have breaks (lightly touching her grandmother’s chains and pendants), because I have no regard for them (hands to the air, and back down with the released trinkets, a pair of wings and stones to her sides and chest).
Balancing acts.
Virg: She said, you may not be able to do it now, but you will in one lifetime. I admired her optimism. You have to be grounded to the earth.
What’s that marker for? I asked. Virg: There are models weighted to the bottom, waiting for headlight photo shoots.
All hams are hit and miss.
Virg: Well I haven’t perfected my routine yet. I’m only 22.
