|
god
|
my grandma was a horse. she'd get up each day around noon or one, and trot on down to the local horse-house and biker bar (O.D.'s over on salt lick run branch fork ridge road, for you locals). anyways, she would trot on down and ply her wares to the local men interested in a little horse. (she was kinda short) .
one day she didn't get up. i waited til about 3 or four in the afternoon. i walked cautiously upstairs. i had never been allowed access to her private stall, so i was nervous.
i looked down at my flip-flops. my toes were lost is a shallow sea of straw, which covered the orange and green shag carpet in fitful clumps.
i approached the multicolored plastic beads that marked the doorway to the inner sanctum.
i peered through.
my grandma lay in a dark heap in the corner of the low wooden room. her canopy bed was neat and tidy, as if it hadn't been slept in. i crept up to her with trepidation, hoping that she was fine but somehow knowing in my heart that she was no longer herself.
|
030505
|
