Ruth Baumann is currently an MFA student at the University of Memphis and Assistant Managing Editor of The Pinch. She attended the Squaw Valley Community of Writers Workshop in 2012, and a list of her publications can be found at ruthbaumann.wordpress.com.
The common denominator stands up & bows but this is no time for applause
From where I’m standing, a river looks awfully like an ocean, an ocean awfully like I’ve pressed too hard on my eyes, or am still asleep
I’m told loneliness is not a globe, thus cannot be taken from a shelf & dusted
Hours don’t belong to days, they only answer to themselves, & the minutes like knuckles constantly cracking
Can I say humans are more attached to memories than people, which makes them basically cats?
I dreamt I was a single purple balloon withering dumb on a highway median & I learned the secret of impassivity was desperate emotionalism
My working definition of adult resembles a cartographer who swallows maps whole
My working definition of adult is a secret passage in a stranger’s attic
I have no working definition of a good man, but I can show you a fabulous seashell collection, we just have to break into someone else’s house
I disbelieve the wind when it says change is coming: change is already here &, like always, my breath is ten minutes too late