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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A Rendering…

Render.  What is this body I have made? How strange, this physicality of self.  The things I have become, and all of those I haven’t. Sometimes, when my eyes are not quite working right, I look like someone else inside the mirror.  Unfamiliar.  Foreign.  I wonder if my mother would still know me—but, of course, …

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