All Socks are Christmas Socks.


We driving from down a strip that led from where i lived
to downtown asheville, nc. It is not raining.
I am in the middle seat of the back, talking
about the manuscript I'm in the middle of to culminate
four years of college. I say it's about the foolhearty idea
that we are expected to believe that any of this is real.
We are at a stoplight and they both turn around
to stare at me. They are beautiful.
'we are science majors' they say.


It's just before thanksgiving. My father is in kosovo
and I am maybe eleven. We are trying to butcher a
turkey. My mother is scared that the axe will hit me.
it lands too-lightly on the turkey's neck.
 Now the turkey is scared as well.


It is christmas. my sisters and i are waiting
at the window for the first signs of the morning halflight
to justify waking our parents.
Someone is walking in the alleyway outside.
they have bread in their hands and it steams with their breath.
I have to use the bathroom, but it is christmas morning
and i know that's time i will not get back.

1 comment:

  1. I had that same hat, the one kelsey is wearing in the bottom picture. it was a good hat.