I need a mending day. I don’t know where the time will come from, or who will thread the needle, scout the house for broken pieces,
Stitch them all
Smooth and fold them
Back together
I need a mending day. I don’t know where the time will come from, or who will thread the needle, scout the house for broken pieces,
Stitch them all
Smooth and fold them
Back together
Luis, I once lived in a country where the money I earned was worthless outside the country but could buy beautiful, irreplaceable things inside the country. I had a gigantic blue suitcase, a backpack. I took treasure home, but not enough. I should have emptied my bags of all the replaceable things and brought home treasure.
You are home treasure
You are Home, Treasure.
He was a tall boy with a faint southern accent and I shrugged him off as a summer thing because he did not feel like home, how many of them did? Things you don’t know until youth is gone
I am home now
And the dish washer
We are eternal, they are eternal, I tell her, but I know that there is something else, the purest kind of paradox, or is it tautology? Etiology? The woman in the park, on the streets, flagging down motorists, in the parking lots of churches, where people congregate like flocks of birds, always, always asking this uncomfortable question–
When was your last normal day? When was your last normal day?
When? When the truth
Stalks in
Wide awake
An old lady sits in the light-filled atrium, says there is a special place in Hell…a special place in Hell, there is a special place in Hell..there are bombs going off somewhere and she refuses to watch, she says she will not watch while behind her emphatic form, the nearly full moon slips its moorings and floats across the pierced blue sky.