September 28, 2011
After “This Room”
Something shimmers, something is hushed up. All those feet shuffle off, taking the sofa, taking the portrait. The shimmering slackens. I lie on the bare floor for a long nap and dream I enter the room you entered first. There was the sofa, the oval portrait of a dog, all those shining feet. But the dream flags: you’re not even here. I wake up full of thirst for the way you used to speak. My heart wells for want of the dog’s weight against my palm. The first room smelled like leaves and luna moths. READ MORE >>
