reading for a class I found this when looking through some old writing on my computer. I wrote this about seven months ago, when the summer heat was stifling. Oh, seasons!
The Grapes, and then the Wrath
The hot summer days remind me of a life I have never lived. I am a wanderer, in a time way before my own and all I have are the worn out boots on my feet. All I know is what I have learned. I am everything I would like to be now without even trying.
My hair hangs in long braids. I have a thin layer of dirt covering my skin. My slouchy white shirt hangs off one shoulder. My brown pants are covered in mud stains, that if washed away would reveal grass stains. I wear black boots that lace up and are purely utilitarian.
I sit for hours on train tracks waiting to feel the vibrations that will lead me to my next location. I bathe in rivers, pretending the rushing water is a replacement for soap. I sit around a fire and fall asleep to the constant chirp of cicadas.
But at some point the fantasy ends. I ask myself what would I eat. I don’t think any interpretation of myself would be able to cook up a rabbit I snared in the forest. The beauty of my story ends here. I am no longer hitching rides on trains, but instead selling my body for money for a decent meal. I end up pregnant and marrying some widowed drunkard who is just happy to have someone look after his six kids. I spend the rest of my days tied down to a reality so grim it can barely be dreamed up. So here I lie on my bed thinking about how the heat isn’t as bad as making fried dough that can’t feed all 9 starving children.