a palindrome

she fell into a big, dark hole. she fell into a big, dark, down hole. a cold hole. the walls are dark. and it’s actually narrow. the floor is cold. her fingers, warm, bump against the crannies of the clay. the cold, clammy, clay. she has knees, but in this case they bang freely.

her world has little light. naturally, because she’s the kind of girl who lets herself fall into holes. she lets herself ‘go’ in them. whenever she is down in one, she can circle around for days inside of it, the pads of her fingers walking her along the walls like a tiny dog on a leash.

“do you remember the time we tried to be something other than who we were?”

it could last for years. she circles, and thinks about all the men who have gone before her in this hole. strong, rough men. shy, beautiful men. all men are boys. she is a woman, but always a girl. all girls are…

“what would you give to have those years back?”

she feels for the eyelet trim along her cotton skirt. well, dress. it’s actually a dress. a white one. she’s a woman, not a girl — don’t forget.

her friend, La Mogue — pronounced ‘Mog’ — was a brute. brutes are men — don’t forget. you can conjure images of clubs and skins, and you might be able to find La Mogue. but in this case, La Mogue is actually a gentle giant. (giants are also men, but let’s not get confused.)

as a giant, La Mogue is her very best friend. (the name is actually pronounced ‘Mogue.’) La Mogue dons chestnut braids of hair and also an eyelet skirt, as you might expect. for as I’m sure you know by now, La Mogue is a woman. actually a woman. La Mogue was really like a mother to the girl, and mothers — as we all know by now — are never girls. mothers are…

“was I ever fully realized?”

an orange monarch dips into the darkness and flaps just above our hole-dweller’s head. she doesn’t know that it’s happening, of course. she is thinking about La Mogue, and tenderly. an adverb that follows a conjunction.

“all this time I had an idea of who I would become, but now I see that I became.
i swear i had a better idea –”

certain pieces of punctuation are ill-timed. but the circular hole is a comfort to her. the monarch above her head is a metaphor for all the unattainable imaginings.

but it is no loss to her. it is almost a blessing. she is just in the hole, dreaming of La Mogue, enraptured by the thought of sharing with her friend these dear experiences.

4.14.14