She dances. In soft light. The sun is slatted Always slatted. With her words. She has them all. She is playing. Plastering. Words like ceiling. All over the walls, words like tomorrow. She has words on her arms. Handfuls of words. Spilling out of fists. Words like flutter. Her dress has one string dangling with her dancing. Dangling with words like billow. Billow was hanging. She puts words on her face. Milk is one. Ce-les-ti-al is another. Stepping on words. They stick to her feet. Shadows of them drizzle about. Wafting down. A word like kite. She is lost. In them. Does not hear. Footsteps. The door yawns. Less footsteps. The only sound is the crack of skin against skin. Words fall from everything. They curl up. Like worms. After rain. The room shakes. The words claw. Again. Again. The words fall. Again- again- again. Some of the words die. Some hang on. Words like tomorrow. Words like milk.
Written 2008 during the English program at Augustana College