E




The sound of e is the sound of failure, high-pitched screaming. I and my mother read a book with cardboard pages. The sentences are stiff.
Tom Thumb is a small boy.
The hand is a finger toy.
My mother shuts the book. She puts her hands to her face. I'm wondering if she is going to cry. Instead, my mother's thumb and index fingers form a closed rectangle. Through this, she looks at me as through a telescope, unblinking: I spy with my eye.
I cup my hands together and look back at her. Our eyes meet. Then she takes my eye and presses
it against her own. I can feel the brushstroke of her lashes, the eye darting beneath the lid like a minnow.
"Can you feel me?"
"Yes."
Blackberries are soft.
Pears, plums, oranges are firm.
The pig is in the sty.
The apple has a worm.
You're the apple of my eye.



Earnings
Emotion



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