Never forget how easily we love what survives to be loved.
He went out. Into the ocean’s black maw. To save. To rescue. Didn’t, as they say, come back. Death is funny like that, precise, dissolute.
Early July, ninety degrees in the shade and me in the crook of my mother’s arms. She has her movie star sunglasses on, purple cat-eye glasses with iris-tinted lenses. … Continue reading
Under the shadow of death, I drank my entire language, sucked the bones out of my hands. I drank until my bone marrow pickled and my eyes, their lids, turned … Continue reading
Screened-in porch. In summer. Orchard darkness in a fox pelt of woods. Quiet flat as a dime, as the Midwest itself. I rock, smoke cigarettes. The bead-heads of tobacco smell … Continue reading