| March
Have you noticed how hard it is to separate.
The bills are sealed and on their way. A wave of confusion crosses her
face when the doctor peeks. The clandestine palimpsests. Distortion. Still
there is knocking. Lily finds the death rattles compelling. Old age marvels
at her husband’s sister’s children dying off one by one in
their fifties. Charlie got up on his birthday, had breakfast and coffee,
and hemorrhaged. Like flies. Gag and fall. The burnt umber opening and
opening. I hardly ever anymore having accommodated all the years. Our
kitty could be cloned and we’d be legion with black cats treading
on my chest putting their wet noses under my chin. His tender tongue trespasses
mercilessly.
One can see how it is attractive. The family in San Diego whose seven
year old is missing. To have her back again. Not her. Waves of
hot sand. Each granule in flux. These copies are not the same. Our longing.
Cannot match. Plastic necklaces fill in. Little cameras advertising their
invisibility. To a man in order to women or a woman. They wouldn’t
show children but. A neighbor’s daughter. How would he know where
her bedroom is. Depression is passed just like. We do. We fret. In a rocking
chair hands too busy by the fire, head down. Or him out there swinging
the axe for wood which is heat so close to the sharp edge as it cuts air
and limbs. Fret in leather thigh-high boots stands on the corner of Polk
and Post the lush lounge spilling out crooners and tiny operetta hopefuls.
Hair as purply blue as a mother’s labia slipping beneath and hanging.
Gravity exerts its pull. Ssshh
His hope was contained in a log and now bobs out on the open gulf . To
have disappeared at sea. Curtains in the bedroom moving gently with an
early morning breeze. As if nothing was different. Every color pitch perfect
and spanking.
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