I found a spoon the size of the Empire State Building at the swap meet this morning and bought it from the vendor with the coins that jingled from my moth-eaten pockets. I visited my wife, who did not live in Ridgeway Cemetery, and told her to meet me on our rooftop at 8 PM. I set up the picnic blankets, plates, and wine; I sat there remembering her pink cheeks in the moonlight. I took the spoon and scooped the pale moon into my desperate mouth. And I swear, for one moment, I was back in her arms.
Aeia Abas, wherever she may be, commits to a life of spontaneity with her pen and forever unfilled cup. She writes for her own well-being, though happy to inspire. She can be contacted at aeiaabas(at)gmail(dot)com.