Skulls
Their delicious late lunch of bratwurst, sauerkraut, rye bread, and light beer had come to an end. Megan pushed her chair back from the table with a scraping noise on the scratched wood floor. “It’s now or never.” The next morning they would be leaving. “Do you mind going up there by yourself?” Alex asked. “My feet are killing me.” His new walking shoes had proven to be too tight. “Besides, I’ve seen enough churches.” Together, they’d visited at least ten cathedrals and chapels on this trip — on Alex’s part, because of an appreciation for history and beautiful...
Read MoreElse
We are, all of us written in disappearing ink, blood. My bones which hold me up have been pulverized to dust in you. The auricle in my ear strains to hear the slightest canticle in air of all of your days. We are falsified by time, allowed to muse that we’re in any vain manner a piece of the thread. However all we truly know or have is the ever growing weaker and paler remembrance of that which we were. As the drops of blood which we’d lately been thin, become this silver last strand dispersed ultimately into all of the universe’s rivers, wide...
Read MoreAn Amount
I think about all of those in New York City all housed in their individual cubes and I wonder do they think about me on the opposite coast smaller cubes flatter do they imagine me with my white walls and white small piece of paper trying to re-compose you there from nothing less than thin air I have been given what used to be you in a small box your name misspelled on a stick-on label I do not know what to make of that that you the most wondrous configuration of cells and thoughts a jubilee of them and now this ugly obscene box and this empty slip of...
Read MoreStoppage
The trees rustle and shake just the same as you did with your disease I stay outside quiet and waiting watch the unkempt days wind and unwind the dull of metals set aside called inside themselves. Are you currently in a place watching the sings of the gale force wind the slapping over its banks, water I keep a vestige of you at last finally, in me, in loose leaf journals. I can feel you the sun sometimes warms the flowers, the leaves, though still.
Read MoreIsland Field
May 14 and it’s raining. The brackish water is six inches deep when I put my feet down to get out of the rental car. My sneakers, socks and pant legs are already wet from the other three driveways that I stepped into and sloshed through. I stopped caring about getting wet. Then, I stopped caring about whether my rental car was going to make it through the water. I’ll see how that goes. There is a pattern now with this going from house to house, searching and knocking. Out of the car, then taking a moment to mutter a subdued curse into my chest as my feet sink yet again into the...
Read MoreSomeone Goes Over Old Love Letters
someone forgets for a moment, thinks of going next door to borrow — then falls apart. Someone still expects a woman with strong arms coming back with groceries and a joke. Some one waits for a black Honda, thinks of the smell of coffee. In another house, someone starts to make lunch but there’s no one to make lunch for. She can’t stop seeing the shapes tumbling from the sky. Someone sets up an alter with incense and a drawing. Her child stops before it, says “come eat dinner...
Read More