They Say that Even Sandstone Mountains will One Day Fall
Your mother made you a nightgown out of the least worn parts of the cotton sheets she slept on. You were just a dream then, so it’s okay if you don’t remember. (But do you?) Years ripped their teeth into the careful seams her hands stitched and it came apart in threads (and your mother, she died, didn’t she?) carried away by the wind, to be as coated in dust […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 