clarkclark

When the residents of the small town of fester's thumb woke up that Saturday morning in late march, they could not have possibly imagined the wreckage that had been laid to their town the night before.

My father's hands are rough with ridges, deep as the valleys bridging the rolling green mountains he now calls home. Each wrinkle is a different story, that he has told as he folds the pages of books, and tucks me into bed.

When I was around maybe five years old, give or take, I picked up one of the most recent editions of Science News that I could get my hands on and began to read.

When two oceans meet, 
What do you think they say to each other?

For their entire lives they have raged on, side by side,
Never touching.

They wash up onto the same shores, 
Share the same neighbors.

In my dreams the blades of grass under my feet are the waves of an ocean, and I am a ship, sailing the sea.

There is a time when the dark becomes comforting
Early morning wrapped in a blanket of the cosmos

Each thought a dream
Each dream a lifetime

reality a world away

a faucet not fully turned off