Status Updates From Antarctica

some of these stories are just not it….sigh

Whatever you say, I’ll manage. I will live out of a water barrel and check the skies. I will learn fifteen types of wind and know the weight of ttomorrow’s rain by the rustle in the sycamores. Make nettle soup and dandelion bread, ask for nothing. And I won’t comfort you. I will not be the woman who shelters her man same as he’s a boy. That part of my people ends with me.

I was your Christmas fling, a thing to break the boredom of the holidays, and you were mine. But now these suitcases have the weight of anchors on this floor I learned to walk on. It may be I’m back for good.

A snarl of angry yellow taxis clotted the intersections on the streets below.