Object Writing – June 4th


I recall sitting on the plush worn couch, beige with scratchy duct tape to keep the filling from spilling out. TV screen, tiny with rabbit ears tilted just so to catch the cartoons. Cool bowl in my hand I slurp milk and the last of the cheerios slides over my tongue, down my throat to meet its end. I remember nights after dinner, dad surfing the channels, amalgamation of bright-lit images and stuttered phrases. Sometimes I would get to have the remote, the slick black plastic slippery in my hand, rubber buttons hard to press where my sister’s rabbit had chewed the tops of them off. The night warm and humid I catch a cane spider lurking on the wall and instinctively jump in my seat. A broom would shoo it away but I’m too lazy so instead I watch warily from the corner of my eye, pretending I’m a chameleon while Pat and Vanna announce the next puzzle. Scent of mango and cotton–

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