WOULD YOU BY SUSAN WHITMORE 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 31
Does it bother you I am happy? Would you love me more if I liked your mother, If I reminded you of your mother, if I didn’t?
Would you love me more if I made you feel guilty?
Would you love me more if I sacrificed something for you? Would you love me more if I said I couldn’t live without you?
HILLBILLY HONK-HONK BY ERIC BARNES 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 31
“I think I’ve been too distracted by the situation with the socks.”
She shakes her head, turns back to her book. “I won’t speak of socks,” she says. “I’m not in the mood to ruin my day.”
Socks are a plague upon the house.
No one item is more frequently left out on the floor, none more widely discarded in locations all across our home, than socks. Peeled off, slipped out of, dropped in place, flung across the room, left alone, left out, put down, balled up, draped along the thin armrest of a chair.