Writers as Kids: [Only the sparkled-cool itch of night to go on]

Story by Olivia Cronk

Pictured: Sasha Fletcher

Only the sparkled-cool itch of night to go on. Pantry light after it all. Come sip porcelain cups. Come sigh your smoke over the sink of dirty dishes. Come see these slippers go bare. In the backyard, it’s it all. Wear your worries home to Ma. Can-of-soup. Broken handle. Electric blanket. Marigold, junk drawer, a fight in the car, after it got cold, guests gone mad. But then it was just Fall; it was just a little sparkled-cool. Why doesn’t time exist, Baby? I call a squirrel over here to witness. It’s got a second face. Its face is wooden and ribs.  It fights me on this. In my wrists is the terrible and utter dream of childhood. One plucks. One steadies forward. Rubbed for the gate. Gulping down. The whole thing is dying grass; dying grass is it all. I forget it all over you, Ma. I am a broken blinker, the oldies station sucked in through the winter. The night goes on.

Comments

[kathryn regina]

the beautiful olivia cronk

[sasha fletcher]

that was awesome. thanks olivia cronk.

[megan martin]

very lovely. wish i could read your work every day. will you start sending me a poem a day, please?