I should have known when my feet turned the icy corner to my street and I saw the extra cars parked at my house….
At Ogunquit Beach, where Maine meets the North Atlantic Ocean, we sprinkled my great-aunt Rosemary’s ashes. The sky was dripping and cold and grey,…
Unless you love someone, nothing else makes sense. —e.e. cummings
I’m still making sense of what happened to me that weekend in 1993. I know…
My breasts hang heavy, ache
to weep sweet milk tears
to mourn your mother, my friend
whose still form slipped shallow
into Echo Canyon soil this morning.
We arrived en masse,
emptied your room post-funeral,
veered sightless as inefficient fliers,
fleeted spools of thread, ceramic thimbles,
polyester-print shirts stained with the debris of years,