After pausing last week, we continue now with post 4 of 6 in the series of poems and prose that Rara sent to be shared with the Stories community. Each posting brings us a bit closer to her release from jail… If you can, and you haven’t already, please donate what you can to the Rara Relief fund. Every little bit will help her get back on her feet.
We bought an ampersand stamp
At a fruitstand & fair in Nevada.
It was Wednesday, and her name was Wednesday
and I couldn’t resist the charm of the coincidence.
She made custom rubber stamps,
pressed into perfect wooden cubes. Anything
you could ever want to imperfectly – repeatedly
impress onto paper,
formed in a few hot, citrus-scented minutes.
I blinked at him, wearing his favorite smile
and he heard by mind, and responded.
“There’s a Wednesday every week, and –
it’s probably not even her real name, and –
our names barely ever stay the same,
let alone our address. So what would we even stamp?”
My smile quivered into a pout
and I walked away from Wednesday
and his unveiling of our
unintentionally – ephemeral existence.
Lost in thought, I weighed the bright lemons
in the next stand, as I measured my
permanence. Testing all things,
tangy and intangible.
A small wooden cube interrupted my thoughts –
pressed into my hand. &, it said –
And? I asked.
“I wanted you to know:
even if we only have one thing that is
it is the most important forever-thing.
Wherever we live,
whatever they call us,
it is me & you.
And our and is ‘til the end.”
I squeezed the ‘and’ – discovering it to be solid –
like freshly-picked lemons,
I should have weighed the ‘end’,
knowing I’d one day taste it.
‘And’, it said,
and ‘and’ we were –
‘til the end, but not