cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

daisies

“You haven’t any idea,” she remarked, fidgeting with her knit cap, “how difficult it is to be in this program, at this school, and have a learning disability. No one knows you or wants to help. They’re out to get me.”

I remembered when she brought me mutant daisies in the late summertime, how she insisted I needed to put them in my glass of water – I wasn’t finished with that yet, but I let her – and how they lived longer than either of us expected. They could have lived longer outside, on their thin furry stalks, but we wouldn’t know that.

I think her teeth are strange; colluded and sharp, they make her look like a feral kitten.

“I got an A-minus. Is that good? She said I was redundant.”

Smiling at her, I touch the stapled pieces of paper and there is nothing to say.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.

∞