My Cardboard Balcony

I Stumbled Into a Cactus by Belinda Roddie I stumbled into a cactus and had to pull the prickles one by one out of my fingers. I drew a bit of blood from one particular spot in the center of my palm. As I went inside and cleaned my wounds over the kitchen sink, I said, "Well, that was pretty stupid of me." When the gauze was wrapped around my hands, I walked into the living room and saw the vase of roses sitting somberly on the coffee table that I had bought from my father. I noticed that I hadn't cut away all the thorns from the stems. I thought, "your touch has come to steal the soul I caught."

That was Grandpa's couch, from years ago. It used to be bright red, but it later took on a shade of burgundy. Plush burgundy. Like Grandma's jacket. I sat on it for a while and stared at the indent where the TV used to be. I had a kitten on my lap. He purred softly so that my knees noticeably vibrated on the cushions.