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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Yes Him!

by Randall Brown



The kid cleans his room, makes his bed without a wrinkle, folds the laundry, dusts the dresser. He wipes the board in school, escorts other kids to the nurse, gets certificates, stars on all his papers, spreads them out, a universe of new constellations. He sits quietly on the couch, curls up as tiny as can be, shuts his eyes, hums to himself. He rides his bike around the circle, a hundred times, shoots baskets, a hundred swishes, each time thinking if I do this, make this, maybe— But still the pile of cans and bottles grows bigger. The kid finds, in his drawer, a tiny rock hammer, kite string, tape, paper clips. He taps the cans with the hammer, attaches them to bottles, fashions a something out of the mess of can, bottle, bottle, cans, squeezes them, and they crinkle like the corners of eyes. No one knocks. No one comes into this private summer. The pile shrinks; the something rises. It catches light like moons. He doesn't know anything about it, except it's his and grows like magical things in a kingdom gone to waste—rock crystals, sea monkeys, and him.