Dangerous Compassions


“On Tuesday I’m bringing him to a club,” she said.

“A club?” I asked.  “Like a bar?  What’s a club?”

“Do you live in Las Vegas?” she asked.

“Not really,” I said.  “I live here.”

Our friend is visiting from upstate New York.  She came to help with the MLK parade.  Today we went to the wetlands.  I used up a lot of energy at the visitors center.

Then I was praying, sitting on this sunny bench.  I was whispering to God.  I was asking for help with certain things, being thankful for certain things.  It felt really good, situating myself within my desires, figuring out what I need.  But I forgot it all.

In our courtyard, a pipe broke, yesterday morning–water was bubbling up, under the picnic table.  So people fixed it.  I think I’m supposed to give them a present, but I don’t know what.

This sculpture I took a picture of, you can’t tell how big it is–it’s big enough that kids can play on it.  I like the expression on the chick’s face and this huge egg.

This drawing I took a picture of for Ming because it looked like a trilobite.  What do you think?  Who knows really.  Manhal, maybe.

This one delighted me, the hoow of the wolf?

Dogs are my least-favorite kind of people, for many of their traits, but kids are a favorite kind of people, for their creativity.  Just their bad spellings alone are very beautiful to me.  I want to learn how to spell worse.  I want to not do the expected thing all the time.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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