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Showing posts from June, 2013

Palm of the Hand

Leaning against the rail, he looked out over the river with slotted eyes, his hands growing warmer on the rough stone. The water changed as he watched it slide slowly beneath him, filming over with the mosaic colors that clotted his brain. His hands began to sting and he pressed them harder against the sun-baked stone, watching the color leave his knuckles, until he felt the heat in the bones of his fingers. The weeks before the festival were grey and dank and he wondered if it would be worth it to go. Then he decided it didn’t have to be sunny; it could be cool and calm, and he made up his mind to enjoy it. But then the sun did come out and the temperature climbed, and the hot, wet air was heavy on his skin, and he wondered if it was worth it.

Breathing out through his nose, he spun back toward the street to contemplate the next bridge and calculate the extent of his need to see the artwork stuffed in among the crowds there.  He lifted his eyes to the sun to remind his …