The Infinite Shape of Family
Linda, 1955 — pearls shimmering, apron snug.
If I bake one more casserole, she whispers,
I might just fly away.
The leftover paper from cutting invitations to a wedding that never happened.
The shreds of fabric trimmed from a garment that never saw the runway.
His mower's hum rising like prayer.
Is this all there is?
Grass clipped, days repeated, fences painted without end.
A lone porcelain elephant missing one ear.
Objects can also be sensed as mysterious embodied disinvestments.
The roast resting, steaming softly
as though praying toward the heavens.
Robots don't share stories over coffee breaks
or take pride in a well-made product.
The couple who argued over the right way to load a dishwasher
only to realize the fight wasn't about forks —
it was about feeling unappreciated.
Her words meet frost instead of flame.
Her father busies himself with faucets
as though plumbing could mend hearts.
What was recently damaged or ruined needs no other noise —
no extra riddled agitation.
Aaron and Michael — fathers fumbling with braids
beneath starlit skies.
Dads, this is crooked.
Do you even care?
Showers of touches that soothe
and can injure or break skin
if one is not careful during any touching process.
She fell from her 34th-floor apartment window.
What do you call a cow with no legs? Ground beef.
Mom, your jokes are bad.
But I kinda love them.
It's just alive stuff Sista Ro.
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Transformation record:
Source: [292] Threads of Time ~ The Infinite Shape of Family (8 extracted lines)
Feed material from: [001], [079], [086], [088], [125], [139], [144], [146]
Method: Literary Transformation Mechanism — extracted skeleton + feed library collision
Locked: March 24, 2026
