http://slow.writerscafe.org/ShreddedCabbage The original writings of author Shredded Cabbage en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775939469 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Every star you’ve ever seen is dead.Everyone you’ve ever knownis trapped between a dead skeletonand dead outsidesYour dead ancestorsthin and delicatecling to memorieswarm enough to hold themThey slip inward and outwarduntil they begin to hollowthemselves outsh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3131649/ Fractals repeat as the pattern of the forest,branching from root to treeacross a liminal surface of light and shadow.In our lungs and blood vessels, rivers of the bodymove the rivers of the world,carrying the same quiet symmetry forward.It is as if a god wished to disappear into his .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3131630/ I wash the clothes of the deadwith cold waterAnd hang the pale linenfrom heaven’s blackest starIt drips a silencestitched like woundsof memoryThere’s a dead birdin your throatits wings folded aroundyour voiceI don’t ask whose blood this isor why it.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3131550/ Still-There are nightswhen the moon refuses closure,the weight of starspresses inward,and the silence answers nothing.Only slow, unresolvable memory-soft, blue edges of fracture-love’s quiet resignation.But something else is possible.A turning.Not away,but deepe.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3131299/ There is a weather-not storm, not calm-a slow-moving skydrifting across my mind.You appear there .Not lost but circling like a quiet scavengersearching for scraps.Your words like woundslike flowers, like mirrors,and something deeper-a pattern, unfinished,uncertain.It .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3131159/ I was born with a numberstitched beneath my tongue,a soft, metallic insect scratching behind my eyes.The world had already rotted -fruit collapsed into itself like ashamed suns,thick tar rivers already turned inward.I walked the empty corridors of mercy,unmeasured and open wo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3130881/ I turned the sculpture into something alive-or it turned me into something that could witness it.At first it was only stone holding shape,a face repeated, a thought echoed in mineral,time held in jawline,history sleeping behind dead eyes.But then-a breath slipped between the cracks.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3130691/ He did not stand above them.He moved within themthrough the undergrowth,unseen except in small disturbances -a branch parted without wind,a pressure moving through silence.He knew the paths before they closed.Not unseen to him.Only not spoken.God, but not named.God, but n.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3130558/ It did not stop.Bone kept branching upward,stretching past purpose,past balance,past the quiet ancestral agreement.A crown became a fracturethat refused to fully split.The animal learned to carryweight at the edge of its limits-weight hardening into form.Neck bending towa.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3130280/ I stood by the window. A bird crossed the sky - too fast to follow - and for a moment I had the unpleasant conviction that it had come from inside me, not metaphorically, but literally, as if something had escaped through my chest without permission.I stepped back. The room felt smaller than it .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3129753/ I. Mathieu’s Arrival The first miracle of Lourdes, Matthieu decided, was traffic control.Pilgrims arrived like migrating birds, except with rosaries and orthopaedic cushions. Buses exhaled the elderly. Volunteers unfolded wheelchairs with the reverence of altar cloths. The Pyrenees sto.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/ShreddedCabbage/3126929/