I am her, she is me. Toss the jackets into the backseat. Windows rolling down. Two lanes; geese in the park, a long yellow bus drops off the approved miniatures. It’s afternoon on an autumn weekday. We stop behind the flashing red lights and octagonal sign while all school children decamp. She salutes me secretly with a two-eyed wink. Flowing on, traffic moves. There’s a beautiful wild-woman riding a bicycle, keeping pace with our car.
K. Shawn Edgar
I’m here, between asphalt black and sky blue. Point Defiance Park pinecones and needles shine golden, drawn to the exfoliating ground as we are universally propelled by narrative. Towers and towns aren’t built, they’re written in erasable ink, erasable blood, becoming vague but never fully forgotten.
| K. Shawn Edgar | September 2017 |
Cabbage roll and one-dollar flat noodles, a place to lock the bicycles out front, our booth is by the window. We are reciting kill is kiss as frames of film, jointly remembered, inform our budding courtship. Trapped in a radio station, voices and language will save us, while these chopsticks unite us.
K. Shawn Edgar 2017
At the heart of the mountain,
color is a whispered myth;
rules are organic, grown truths.
Rain is a sound without physical form.
Below the cliffs, lapping and hungry,
the ocean knows little of mountain’s
internal life. Solid. Hard.
K. Shawn Edgar | IRB | NGO | BAD