Unsurprised on 11/9/16
The fall leaves look like frisking birds on the wind until they hit the pond’s surface with a surprised little splash. Then it is clear they’ve died. Still, their tops are open to the pastel sky (which is just beginning to yawn towards the navy of bottomless night) their veined backs turned on the brown mass of already-sunk leaves, undifferentiated, below. Of course the ones currently afloat will never sink, never join that scum.
Maria Pinto’s work has appeared in Necessary Fiction, Word Riot, Cleaver, and Pinball, among others. She was an Ivan Gold Fellow at the Writers’ Room of Boston, in the city where she reads for FLAPPERHOUSE, walks dogs, and does karaoke. Her debut novel is in search of a home.
Forgotten what happened on November 9, 2011?
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