I asked my dad once what a desert was, before I knew that it was just sand and never-ending sun, and he said something long and with so many words that I got lost in it, like a maze.
A DESERT IS A MIRAGE, IS WHAT THEY SAY, A MIRAGE, BUT IT ISN’T A MIRAGE AT ALL THOUGH BECAUSE A MIRAGE IS SOMETHING REAL, IF YOU ARE THERE, IF YOU’RE IN IT THEN IT CAN’T BE PRETEND LIKE THEY SAY, BECAUSE IT IS SAND THAT GETS IN YOUR FUCKING BOOTS EVEN THOUGH THE COVER OR COVERLETTE OR SOME GODDAMN THING THEY CALL IT IS SUPPOSED TO KEEP IT OUT, BUT IT ADDS UP ANYWAY, YOU BETTER FUCKING BELIEVE IT, UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING YOU WANT ANY MORE THAN TO UNLEARN THOSE FUCKING WORDS LIKE DESERT OR SAND OR SUN OR COVER OR OSCAR MIKE OR DUCK AND COVER OR CAMOUFLAGE OR ALL-TERRAIN OR ENGAGEMENT OR ENEMIES, LIKE THOSE WORDS, LIKE THE DESERT AND THE FEELING OF BEING FUCKED IN GODDAMN SAND AND STICKING THERE FOREVER EVEN WHEN YOU AREN’T THERE ANYMORE.
Camels live in the desert.
I learned about the desert before I even learned what a desert was.
J. A. Tyler is the author of four chapbooks, three novellas, and countless stories and poems. He is the founder of mud luscious (magazine & press). He is deeply in love with the ampersand and profoundly at odds with publishing pictures of himself. He blogs here.
Story archived at http://girlswithinsurance.com/index.php/prose/flash/55-jat-0709-ducks
