Everybody keeps their distance these days. Everybody is so many different kinds of people and I have run out of fingers and toes. There is a taxonomy to this, something I learned long ago and am still paying off in monthly installments. I can make a list of attributes, divide them into three columns with headings like mother, daughter and unholy ghost, the ultimate triumvirate, but most would see through that tactic in no time at all. Let’s break it down to the smallest element we can. I am not winning friends here, am I? I can only influence those who are no longer susceptible to whatever bromide is making the rounds. I might be able to keep some of you off the ledge if only you'd let me try. Getting to that bedrock means naming an inconvenient truth. But on the upside, I can be my own god! My very own lipsticked savior. I can forget the masses, pulverize the phone that collects dust, twist my foot into every fake smile. That uncrossed threshold opens wide. Raw sugar between my long, blue teeth never tasted so sweet. My flame. My vision. My own Holy Grail with a twist.

Michelle Reale
People With Holes
Heather Fowler