05

    lisa pulls up and felix gets in. lisa says her jobs are terrible, that she hates working, that she hates working with kids, that she hates the idea of kids, that she hates the idea that she is someone’s kid. lisa condenses into lisas past present and future, leaving a light trail that reflects neon red in the wet pavement, burns neon red somewhere in space, blinks neon red in the orange room. lisa is on a hill above a soccer field marked with crisp white lines. lisa is dragging felix through a tidal wave frothing with crisp white lines. lisa is crying in a parking lot somewhere; crisp white lines. the phone in lisa’s hand is blocked with text. “which part do I read?”, she says, “which part did you read?” felix stares straight ahead. lisa dives into the center circle, makes the grass ripple.
    lisa’s light trail swerves, dips, disappears behind what felix could only articulate as the (forthcoming) semantic resistance. felix rolls off his bed, exits, escapes, passes his sister’s empty room. felix opens the fridge, uncaps water bottle. through the kitchen window felix sees branches, hears what he interprets as ‘crow’. ‘felix is standing before an open fridge’, thinks felix. ‘felix is in his room’, thinks felix.

‘lisa is crying in a parking lot somewhere’.