The moon swells in the last days of our heat wave. I have spent the summer filling this room with fans,and each night I have turned them on and slept beneath their electric whir, protected from morning birdsong and its infinite memory of your arm half-circled around my waist. What will I do when the …
The fire truck passed, and I watched as the cars resumed their forward momentum in waves, as if the siren had paused time and then hit play again.
The crows amass before dawn. I consider shooing them like an old woman in an Italian movie, with a broom and guttural noises that don’t require subtitles, but their caws seem cooperative. One delegates; The others request clarification. I stay in bed. I await my orders.
If the pews had been more accommodating, the weather cooler, my clothes more suitable for a room full of Sunday bodies, I would have married him.
A poppy for him. A beetle for her. A story for me.
I have been defending myself for days. I’m going to get some sleep now.
I have tried since morning to find the words for the winged scarab pendant my mother fastened around my neck when I was small enough to need her to fasten such things. A scarab. A symbol for the sun being rolled across the sky. A symbol etched on tombs. A symbol for re-birth–an amulet for …
Today has been too hard. I am retreating.
Today I am waiting for the weather to cool. There is still too much heat for the seeds to survive. The dogs have been digging at the guava tree, exposing roots. Branches are burning in the sun. I worry that I cannot save it. I still feel the shift of your weight in the morning, …
There is nothing for today. I am full of anectdote, but lacking story.