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| len kuntz |  | 1. Worry Warts There should have been better places to store our worn down worries but the cupboards had cups in them and the socks drawers were full. The lingerie drawer had space but smelled musty with both our underwear ratty and discolored. Eventually we had them stitched into our skin and the worries plumped through like welted mountain ranges or skin worms. Our friends thought we'd contracted something and de-friended us. People on the bus got off several stops too early. The neighbors never came out anymore. After a while we worried that we'd become unlovable. In the mirror we saw how hideous-looking we were, covered with centipede skin. And so it came to pass that our fretting was worth it, we had had good reason to worry after all. 2. The Palm of Your Hand is not where your future sits, waiting to be read, nor is it a place for tracing wishes but rather the soft-sided part that should have my face in it instead of his. 3. The Photos That No Longer Look Like You We can all whittle. Now, our soft stories have become strong songs played in step with the lapping waves that recall days of beer and bleachers, band, seasons when the sun beckoned us to be bold and brave above everything, devout to each pouting petal of our burgeoning youth. | |
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