a short moment in time...

by Marie Countryman

having just climbed out of that shallow grave, covered in rotted leaves and the forest's carpet, she looked about her on all fours. should she crawl to the left or the right? where is north? the stars not yet out, and the sky occluded by clouds, she had no point of reference out of the maze of time and hazy memory.. she remembered she once wrote pomes but of what and to whom remained a mystery.. a check arrives on the third of each month churned out of some great moloch government conspiracy to delude all that the sick and mad are cared for and subsidized... ah, birch bark - she grabbed it and penned this epistle from twig and blood, delivering it in ways beyond her technology to your eyes, from hers ah, but who am i? i am she but she does not know that she is me.