15 April 2010 | Vol. 10, No. 1
A man spent time at the bottom of a vase. "Arrange me, please," he heard the air around him say. The man knew he should have a plan but he had none. One day he noticed a fly outside. It bumped its big slimy eye on the glass. The fly seemed sexual. "Maybe he's trying to tell me something," the man thought. He looked to the air, but the air was not interested in life outside the vase. Constantly hoping to be moved—the air was consistent in its aims. The man never saw the fly again. At night he leaned against the vase and dreamed of the fly eye—its gritty yellow a moon for him to follow, a light to see by.
About the author:
Emily Kendal Frey is the author of Airport (Blue Hour, 2009), The New Planet (Mindmade Books, 2010), and Frances (Poor Claudia, 2010). She lives in Portland Oregon.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Emily Kendal Frey at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 10, No. 1, where "The Vase" ran on April 15, 2010. List other work with these same labels: poetry, prose poem.