Friday, January 22, 2010
when they looked inside your guts they found salt crystals the size of apples. they told you angels had been sleeping there. the beds were freshly made and still warm. they asked you if you had any enemies, people who might have a grudge against you, might want to hurt you. caught off guard, you started quoting tolstoy. their eyebrows shot up like bottlerockets, foreheads like week old newspapers. you cleared your throat, embarrassed, and said "no...not that i can think of." outside, a bird slammed into the window. you were thinking of old lovers. one of them was rummaging through an old toolbox, the other was pouring tea. this was an oddly companionable silence between strangers. for a moment, you wondered if maybe this was the afterlife. you sneezed. one of them grinned. he told you that you just needed to sign a simple contract, pulled a cat out of his coat pocket and handed it to you along with a pen. "it's not legally binding," he explained. the other was still rummaging through the toolbox. "aha! i found it!" he said and handed you a shabby blue scarf, stale smelling and full of holes. "if anything happens" he said solemnly, "use this."