Why Goblins Shouldn't Attend the BalletHannah had just settled in for a relaxing evening when she heard the commotion on the porch. Her stomach felt like she'd swallowed flaming barbed wire. She didn't have to guess what had happened this time, she knew, just knew, who was responsible. For the last few months, he'd turned her nice, quiet, orderly life into a study in chaos.
This time, though, she heard a loud and very female voice in addition to the too chipper, singsongy voice of the little world wrecker, Tum Grubber. When Hannah finally screwed up the nerve to investigate, she knew she'd made a mistake when she decided to stay home for the weekend.
Tum was curled up on her porch swing, his fat little legs swinging, while he crammed a soggy ballet slipper into his mouth. The delicate silk ribbons hung limp and coated in thick strings of goblin drool. That wasn't the worst of it though. The worst of it was the angry ballerina tapping a shoeless foot impatiently on Hannah's porch.
“Can I help you?” Hannah a
Trick of the LightMy blast shadow.
Atomic, burns hot, leaves no one alive,
Only an image
For some son of a bitch to find.
I found her, laid down with her, danced alone
while she danced alone, then I
Crowned her my princess, my mess
In a dress of a style Mom Would Not Have Approved Of.
The sand is smooth here
on the shore with the sun warm under palm trees
her palm squeezes mine
the priest asks for our vows but my eyes
look down to our shadows, especially the way
they don't blend together.
Nuclear shadowYour shadow is etched into my heart
Like lovers spray-painted on a city wall.
The blast has made you permanent in your impermanence.
Because you're gone, you'll never be gone.
You were here, so you always will be.
the ballet dancerpracticing for the
first time since the Alzheimer's
robbed her memories