strawberry jam. by Sarah Marie Miller
it finally hit me (be it true or be it true)
it was not me but rather, you
inside my head, near the front a man leaps from his chair
finger poised in the air and 'ha! a ha!'
'josiah.'
triumph. jo-si-ah. not a sigh. not a breath. more a nazi soldier shouting a command. oh but he's soft at the core alright.
'ya done good, ya done good'
and all that manly trickle-down pride lies under that prayer pleading exclaiming revolutionary thought.
josiah.
and the man falls off his chair with a smile smeared slapped like red jelly across a face.
(across his god damn face)
it was not me but rather, you
inside my head, near the front a man leaps from his chair
finger poised in the air and 'ha! a ha!'
'josiah.'
triumph. jo-si-ah. not a sigh. not a breath. more a nazi soldier shouting a command. oh but he's soft at the core alright.
'ya done good, ya done good'
and all that manly trickle-down pride lies under that prayer pleading exclaiming revolutionary thought.
josiah.
and the man falls off his chair with a smile smeared slapped like red jelly across a face.
(across his god damn face)
Sarah Marie is a sentimentalist. a photographer. a writer. a painter. in downtown smalltown kentucky. she likes magic, secrets, and the sun. yes, and dreaming.
