the skill of forgetting - more than a little like whittling - slow and methodical, always the blade pointed away from a body, lightly curled over the casually dwindling medium those of us who have become proficient at this have learned even to hum a bit - something slightly off-key, off-kilter, with words long ago … Continue reading the skill of forgetting
I would bury them, my sorrows, deep into the loam - into the comfort of earth, and dark, and waiting I would bury them, these burdens, beneath the roots of the locust that stood as witness to their birth I would bury them, my troubles, close by where I'll see come the spring these troubles … Continue reading I would bury them…
snippets from the past few days the snowdrops have been stepped on by some unwary foot - they are closer now to mud than to sky - but the crocus persists and the daffodils are showing their greening tips I had to side-step several puddles of blood on the sidewalk outside the office one morning … Continue reading 2.12.2015
these things cannot yet be called memory - too fresh, too new, too aware of their own being to be relegated to the corners of ponderous afternoons how that spring you sprouted, sudden and furious in the sanctum of breast, winnowing tendrilled assurances around and about these willing ribs until my breath became as entangled … Continue reading 2.10.2015
and the pain was a hook she had swallowed - a bright, relentless sun which burned beneath her heart without the relief that ash would bring - and the heat rising up from her throat carried with it the most fervent prayer for darkness that the sky had yet heard - so frightening that the … Continue reading 1.22.2015
Some broken things, in the right light, still shine. And in a perfect wind, the fragmentary might fly. But mostly we forget this and gather too closely the sharp edges to our chest - seeking solace in those pieces that are left.
it was late November when I drove toward Maine I still hear how the wind tore across the highway, rattling doors and nearly blowing that tired red Buick into the frozen ditch I had second, third - hell sixth thoughts on the other side of the state line, but I kept right on - forward … Continue reading down east
for two and a half days a perfect view of pine and sky now into the third day spent mostly in bed ouch has become an accessory to moving realized not much rhymes with ibuprofen thankful I'm not usually the rhyming sort quit counting ceiling cracks it'll fall when it falls still manage to be … Continue reading tallying the day’s efforts – #2 (the strained back edition)