Skeletons
August Smith Ten year-old me playing Gameboy Pocket in the back seat of our family suburban. Ten year-old me knowing cemeteries are nothing like the graveyards of video games. No bedraggled crows hollering from clock towers. No purple sky, no snarling crucifixes struck by lightning. No ghostly enemies gliding down the gentle curve of a pixelated hill, translucent blue, arms outstretched in escapable love. No pressing B to heal again. No revival potions, or coming back, no smiling no kicking. There are no heroes in a cemetery. Likewise, there are no villains. Only crying parents. Only baby brothers playing with fresh dirt clods. Only a mid-noon sun that hovers above like something terribly real. Only alarming amounts of names and alarmingly withered bushes. Only short sequences of numbers, more than ones and zeroes but easy enough to subtract for a ten year-old. |
August Smith is powercube triumvirate. He lives in Somerville, MA. Read his other published work, including four chapbooks, here: http://august.mostlymidwest.com/. He runs Cool Skull Press.
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