My Cardboard Balcony

Something Smells by Belinda Roddie Oh, Hell, something smells. Draw up the curtains, 'cause I'm certain something's died here, never tried to tread out the muck or the carcass that's stuck and dried underneath the porch, you see. Oh, spoon me a ladle of some sweet thick maple to plug up my nose and tingle my toes and soothe my tongue with a tune that's sung high-pitched like a motor while this terrible odor is whiffed away like another Tuesday.

"I'll be there on Monday. That's a promise." "A promise?" "Yes. A promise. You need to believe me on this." She gripped my fingers so tightly as she raised her head from the pillow. The surgery was upcoming. I could not imagine the physical pain she was going through in her head. In her brain. Deep, deep within the mushroom folds of knowledge, gray matter going whiter by the day. "I'll be there. I promise."