My elephant earring fell out of my ear
and onto some lonely floor in a place
that is not here or there.
But I know that when it
hit the ground, it cracked open, letting out particles of dust.
And in the dust there is a galaxy, full of
stars and planets, and dusty cracks.
Through the cracks there is an orange.
I peel back the skin and there is a lemon.
I peel back that skin and my grandmother is there
holding the leash of her dead golden retriever.
Inside of her there is a field of cornflowers and Queen Anne’s lace.
Beneath the field are quilts
made of every t-shirt I have ever owned.
Behind the stitching is a rejection letter.
I tear open the seal and in the envelope is a bottle of whiskey.
I open the bottle and take a swig,
but my mouth is filled with marbles.
I spit them out.
Each marble is covered in dust and as I wipe it off, I can see that each one is filled with stardust.
But inside one marble is my elephant earring,
lost,
somewhere in between here and there.
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 6:14 PM UTC
My elephant earring fell out of my ear
and onto some lonely floor in a place
that is not here or there.
But I know that when it
hit the ground, it cracked open, letting out particles of dust.
And in the dust there is a galaxy, full of
stars and planets, and dusty cracks.
Through the cracks there is an orange.
I peel back the skin and there is a lemon.
I peel back that skin and my grandmother is there
holding the leash of her dead golden retriever.
Inside of her there is a field of cornflowers and Queen Anne’s lace.
Beneath the field are quilts
made of every t-shirt I have ever owned.
Behind the stitching is a rejection letter.
I tear open the seal and in the envelope is a bottle of whiskey.
I open the bottle and take a swig,
but my mouth is filled with marbles.
I spit them out.
Each marble is covered in dust and as I wipe it off, I can see that each one is filled with stardust.
But inside one marble is my elephant earring,
lost,
somewhere in between here and there.