Note: names have been changed to protect the identity of those involved.

Yeah so I’m still holding this grudge for something stupid that happened like, eleven years ago. But it’s really the audacity of Jill that I’m angry at, and how it basically ruined our friendship.

So: I had recently…


today was the kind of day

that shoves a porcupine in your

guts. it split your ears

while screaming out of register. A bear

is pressing your shoulders down, scratching

its furry, rough back on

you until you’re forced to

press to the ground. your

voice is muffled because a bat is enfolding

your tongue. today is too cautious

to ask for help. it

gave you these animals to care for

and you’ve so far

been okay with keeping them at bay. but

you can admit mid-morning,

there’s a window of relief when

you can step back. take a

seat. and when you take a sip,

the coffee is still hot.

You obviously know my whole story of how I adopted Mocha, my 5 kilo rabbit whom I’ve had for almost 5 years now. (If not, you can read that story here. But I need to share this story about my vet because it’s just so odd.

The best part of…

earth. solidity that is the only

constant, sometimes. breathing

the scents, without the pollution, the pure

soil and heaviness that lifts the thoughts. opposites

balance: the feather-light

leaf alighting on a stone. in contact with

these, grabbing with empty fists, abate the

turmoil within the mind. I see my lost

students, who wish for a connection, or

peace, gathering bouquets. while I

rush, forward, intent on the end goal, a young

girl stops. she gathers lavender flower

petals in her open palms. a man barraged by

paranoia gathers wild rosemary

stalks. these gifts from the world are lovingly collected

and left, like prayers, for those in

search of together.

the inconvenience of terrorism

c’mon man I was just trying to sleep

the sirens are like, the worst alarm clocks. first,

because they do not wake me up at the time

that I need to. like damn, let me at least sleep till 7. what

the fuck kind of meeting…

Alana Schwartz

English teacher by trade, story writer for fun

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