Ours is a transitory myth complete with shorelines, silhouettes of cypress trees and the interjections of Persephone— her mother’s threat of perpetual winter, and what she knows about fennel planted in shallow pots; how quickly it will grow, how soon it will die. Continue reading
Author Archives: sevenhousesdown
Day 14 of 35
I purposely misspell “hart,” leaving out the “e” and waiting for your red-inked corrections. Continue reading
Day 13 of 35
I do not want to be the story you tell next. Continue reading
Day 12 of 35
Night Walk, Big Bear A 1/2 mile in my hands swell and the stars are persistent. I remember them from before, from 17. Do they have the same memory– what I told that boy in the black Suburban. Do they know that I want better words for them than “twinkle” and “bright?” Continue reading
Day 11 of 35
It is too hot, but still I dig and bury roots in the yard. My skin burns. I do not feel it, but days later I peel in the more delicate places, and the creeping thyme will not grow. Continue reading
Day 10 of 35
Saki and then champagne. It was bound to happen. Continue reading
Day 9 of 35
My lover has watched her all day, fallen a touch in love with her blonde hair, the way she won’t look him in the eye, her stories of departure. What cannot be carried is left behind. He imagines not slippers beside her bed, but a valise and shoes made for sprinting. He calls her a … Continue reading
Day 8 of 35
When I went to the desert last week to collect a few of my father’s papers, I drove past a shortcut my sister and I use to take on our way home from school. The small footpath, wide enough for two girls to walk side by side, would save us at least a 1/2 mile … Continue reading
Day 7 of 35
I go to the ocean for comfort, to feel her pull at my ankles, to watch her erase the evidence of my approach. Continue reading
Day 6 of 35
Today, in yoga, the instructor told me to breathe, so I did. She told me to let go of the parts of my body I did not need for the position, so I unclenched my jaw, released my neck, relaxed my shoulders. She told me to breathe, again. I am a child in this class, … Continue reading
Untempered Glass 