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My Inanimate Nanny

I'm not quite sure how it happened. Was she fired or did she retire? Perhaps she simply faded away like the haze of a camera's glare. I really don't know.

I was just shuffling around one day taking random photos of wabi-sabi and smashed arugula when I saw her. Her, standing there like she always had, the green of her skin somewhat blemished but still strong. Her hair, embroidered with azure stripes had stains upon it, and rain had beaten holes in her skull. Her body was peeling away and her legs, the support beams to her whole self, were twisted at  odd angles and in need of great repair.

I recognized her without hesitation. She still held that grandeur, leaderlike essence about her despite her poor state of health. I stumbled over to her and gripped her long arms. I could still swing on them, even though I had to crouch to do so. I did a quick flip and she shuddered, shaking from the surprise and state of unuse she was in. The bones inside of her, a darker green and quite thin, were brittle and flaking like the the husk of corn. The ribs in which I stepped years ago lay sunken in with the weight of the past. Faded plastic kitchen toys sat inside her bones in the same position that I had last put them. The rope in which I was never able to climb swung ever so slightly in the breeze like a noose on a chilled autumn evening. Her brain where I used to lie in and watch the sunset or stars or plan secret sleepovers was rotting. She brought tears to my eyes.

She was the one who brought my sister and I together. We would make mud pies and crush specific plants together to create magic potions. We would hang our hopes and dreams on the branches of the oak tree with the help of our nanny. We would collect rain in buckets from the tops of  her hands. We would hide in her arms when night called.

Nanny was the first one to go. Then it was the hermit crabs and dresses and secret slumber parties. Then away with the food and photos and movies. Then it was us.


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