Glissade
by Eunice Tiptree
Seeing nothing
but rain
the wet newspaper that will never dry out
a relic seething with the rot of bad news
Seeing nothing
but massed clouds
the run of another day without a cathedral
stonework worn but still able to inspire
Seeing nothing
but wet basement
walls bowed and listing with a cracked
smile about to crumble under multiple pressures
Seeing nothing
but another
empty Sunday, a Plymouth Roadrunner
rusting in a field on bare rims rubbing the weeds
Seeing nothing
let's pretend
we feel everything
but rain
the wet newspaper that will never dry out
a relic seething with the rot of bad news
Seeing nothing
but massed clouds
the run of another day without a cathedral
stonework worn but still able to inspire
Seeing nothing
but wet basement
walls bowed and listing with a cracked
smile about to crumble under multiple pressures
Seeing nothing
but another
empty Sunday, a Plymouth Roadrunner
rusting in a field on bare rims rubbing the weeds
Seeing nothing
let's pretend
we feel everything
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Eunice Tiptree transitioned from fiction to creative nonfiction at about the same time she began transitioning from male to female in 2010. She has had essays published in Crack the Spine, Weave, Writers for Dinner and elsewhere and is a Best of the Net nominee for her essay in the May 2015 issue of Brevity. Before transitioning, she was a journalist specializing on the space program.
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