My Cardboard Balcony

by Belinda Roddie Into the earth we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. The pit in the earth is big and big and bigger 'til we find my boy. The shovel is splintering in my fingers, and the pain is great and forever lingers, but I won't stop digging, so we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. Deep into the night, we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. My stomach is light and sick and sick and sick I feel for my boy. Two men have given up and already gone home. The third is considering leaving me alone. But we both keep digging, and we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. The reason we're digging and we dig we dig we dig to find my boy is because he fell in the pit the pit the pit - my poor, sweet boy. He was simply skipping on his merry way when a rift opened up in the soggy clay, and it stole him today, so we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. And my neck is stiff as we dig we dig we dig to find my boy. And I feel so numb in my lips my lips my lips while we find my boy.

I fished an apple out of the barrel in the grocery store and began to eat it before I even got to the register. I handed the bewildered cashier two dollars, told her to keep the change, and chucked the greenish-red core into the nearest bin before propping my stiff body against the nearest brick wall, sighing as the chewed fruit began to settle in my stomach like a sweet stone.