In a plastic bucket, I batched stray things that needed decisions. What unified them was their shared status. Not one of them was mine but it's all in my possession and I have to touch everything now because I won't take an attic full of deferred decisions to France. I don't have the space to … Continue reading Doom Box Elegy
January Elegy #4 I brought back a gift for you from Bali. Salt from the north coast and your choice of two, small, white plates from a local pottery. One of the plates must have been made by pouring slip into a mold that gave it the form of a plate woven from some part … Continue reading Salt Elegy
January Elegy #3 Your glasses are folded upside down on the outlet box above the counter in the kitchen. You got them not long before you died. Your eyes were changing from the radiation. The lenses are smeared with blood I will never wash away, like the blood in between the floorboards of the kitchen; … Continue reading Horizon Line
I wish I had thought of it before now – a year of elegies, one for every month since you died until we get to July. Perhaps July gets 2? But I didn’t think of it until just now. And I hadn’t thought about elegies at all until Lana sent one about Bluebells and you … Continue reading January Elegy #1
You stepped in and stood behind me, gatheredmy hair loosely and bound it with a twisttie from the drawer. I looked to the left, notunderstanding you were protecting mefrom my task at the sink. I had swung my hair to get it to stay behind my shoulders and you saw that I had orderedthings wrong … Continue reading Twist tie
August 19 1. The snake is almost liquid now, merging with the earth, sunken and rank. 2. It had pulled itself into an infinity loop, looped twice, tucked its head under one of the inner curves of its body, and stopped living. I touched it, wanting it to untwine and disappear. The snake's body was … Continue reading Convergence – #23
July 4 1. When I comb my fingers through my hair to pull the knots, long grey hairs come away in my hand. 2. Mom used to touch my head and smooth my hair when I was sick. Sometimes Dad rested his hand on the top of my head, then moved his hand to the … Continue reading Hair – #13
Tiny Events 