The Graveyard

Sometimes, I imagine what it must be like to be buried underground. When I miss my cousin terribly, I think about rolling back the grave grass like a carpet.  Like a blanket, or a sheet.  I could unbury him, and watch the ground unfurl. When I was little, I was captured by the story of …

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worth: a memory

I used to twist my words until they told stories I had never heard before. Too forgiving, other people used to say. A woman— Maintaining imagery, An object to be viewed. I know how to blame myself And how to polish the same wineglass till it sparkles— Till it shatters in the hand. I remember …

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Ritual

My cousin told me once that when she was trying to quit smoking, she buried her tobacco.  She walked all along down the beach until she found a place within the sand and she buried it.  If I remember right, she rolled one last cigarette before she nested the loose shreds of leaves into the …

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Bad Hairdo at a Funeral

Nothing is too ugly for this world.  I think, rather, it is us pretending not to see. My father tells me a story, about my grandfather’s funeral, and how an uncle approached him and asked if he had seen the casket yet. I am two, maybe three, on some stranger’s lap probably beside my brother, …

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