this morning, walking to work: more sun than at the minute.
someone decided last night, maybe after 11:30, to restring a guitar, it was a six and not a twelve, so there’s that. still: late night.
confusion. words. where are we? I thought we were in Florida
how would we have gotten there?
I thought we’d driven there. here. last night. that lamp. how did it get here?
my mother didn’t like it. so I brought it here. a long time ago. this is all the same stuff it was yesterday. the sheets are different. that’s all.
words, sentences function at that minute. geography. place. circumstance. not so much.
remembering is, at best, elusive. subjective. memory, we hear all about how we remember what we do or don’t. or how.
but this. entire pieces not remembered. did they then not exist? were they the tiny trees in the forest that never made a sound?
tired, like the notion of snow. a million words and permutations.
thank you, Kath.
after the bus.
in Provincetown with my father’s wife
she thinks to have us bring mums
we stop to see him, a stone’s throw from mr mailer
we leave in a bit to go see b
organizational feats of derring do to get from bed to shower (p, can you hurry please a little. I need to get in. he tells me to get in then so I do get in he gets out don’t even) to bus stop (hidden in the clusterfuck of rearranging downtown providence yet again )
the efforts of a village to get this particular ass seated in this particular bus, a carer, a neighbor, half the internet
thinking of why I travel today and how to hold b and sandy’s people in my heart
giant bus. almost empty but LOUD people sitting just close by. why?
understanding notions of respite
I wrote a thing. Leah posted a thing.
Tomorrow, a memorial, a coming together for our friend, s. those many mornings not sleeping I wonder what to do, what to say. if there’s anything needs saying. that I need to say that would bring anything worth having to b. I am unsure.
I don’t very much like the courage to heal in its expectations of how good victims heal, but likely it is helpful to some people in its way.
its author wrote words that burn. cauterize.
dark morning kitchen
all day thing in front of me, a meeting with students and then with friends. if we’re lucky
the new last spring boiler tossing wind around the house, warm, in theory. forced air
she posts a song he’d posted once. i think.
crickets. my phone is my clock because, it seems, p is wired so that electrical things he touched turned themselves in. gave up, quit doing what they were asked to do
last night, away, p asks about the construction noise in the morning. maybe that’s why I hear the quiet. they’re. not. there.
also, just now, light coming up to crush your heart it’s that much perfect
toni’s birthday. the day ahead.
the room is full of ghosts. and not ghosts. winter coming, sure as eggs
also found, also remembered
r reminds us, joy for julie;
the sky that morning. different to this.