Water Weavers

It feels strange, to wake up in a world without them.  A sudden stark realization that they are, simply put, no longer there. And yet, we transition.  This is the work of the mourners—to ease themselves back into life.  The men continue on, their emotions dragging them so deeply that they touch the bottom.  The …

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Hide and Seek

Like water, the brothers uncles cousins now slip through my fingers.  And where they fall is someplace dark. I cannot quite see to the bottom of them.  I try to peer through all of their existence at my feet, to grasp at understanding, but my gazing comes up dry.  To really understand them, the dead …

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Windsong

I wish that I had known Virginia Woolf.  The way she drifts beneath the waters of the Ouse River.  Near Sussex, her pockets full of stones.  I would have liked to hold her hand and smell her hair.  That glorious mane of woman hair, strong and maternal.  Safe.  I would have liked to wrap my …

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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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