‘The next morning Toby was giving a class at the Wellness Clinic: Affective Herbs, for the twelve- to fifteen-year-olds. Manic Botanics, the kids called it, which was better than what they called some of the other subjects: Poop and Goop for the violet biolet instruction, Guck and Muck for Compost-Pile building.
“Willow,” she said. “Analgesic. A-N-A-L-G-E-S-I-C, spell it on your slates.” There was the squeaking of chalk – too much squeaking. “Stop that, Crozier,” said Toby, without looking. Crozier was a chronic squeaker. Had she heard a whisper of Dry Witch? “I heard that, Shackleton,” she said. The class was more restless than usual: after-shocks from the uproar caused by Veena. “Analgesic. What do we mean by that?”
“Painkiller,” said Amanda.
“Correct, Amanda,” said Toby. Amanda, always suspiciously well behaved in class, was even more so today. She was sly, Amanda. Too well versed in the ways of the Exfernal World. But Adam One believed the Gardeners had been of great benefit to her, and who was to say that Amanda was not undergoing a life change?’
***
5 August 2022 MEC (excerpt)
I offer this heart to you.
Those were dark days
when we sat
at either ends of the table
when we lay
on the outside edges of the bed
when we ran
away from each other
and could not speak
what was in our hearts.
I am offering this heart to you.
Those were the dark days
when you moved inward
and inward
putting up walls as you
collapsed inside yourself
investigating
the very cells
of yourself
looking for answers
in the composition of your blood
in the electricity of your heart
going so far away
from us
without going far at all.
Still I offer this heart to you.
Thoughts? Feel free to share them here.
