Joanna's Box

An extremely short story that will never get recognition for being anything other than the author's lucid attempt at being productive at work until lunch.

Joanna painted the box and worshiped
the god of malpractice whom she believed
was in cahoots with the god of miscommunication.

Joanna ripped the box to pieces and
started singing songs about Italian
ice and Sunday parties with big hats
and drunken brothers.

Joanna stood on the box and imagined
she was filing for divorce.

Joanna flipped over the box and began
screaming at her mother who happened
to be sitting on the edge of the kitchen table,
tearing up pancakes and throwing them to
the dog like pennies to a street performer.

Joanna sat in the box and believed in
miracles.

Joanna loved the box and cried when it left
her for another woman with granite colored hair
and a chipped veneer.

Joanna threw the box in the air and
ran for cover, satisfied with well-enough alone.

Reviews

[well_written]

This was astounding. I had such visions in my head from reading this. Truly original and creative. What I like the most about it is that Joanna's imagination is as random as I find mine to be. The beginning caught my attention in a way that I haven't experienced in a long time. "Joanna painted the box and worshiped
the god of malpractice whom she believed was in cahoots with the god of miscommunication." I would love to read anything you write!!

[Marina]

Woah
I liked this so much.
It's so well written.

Poems like this are a rarity on writers cafe. This is really, really good.

Thankyou so much for sharing.

xxStaySweet,
Rina