Untitled
C minus A and B equals—
Tree with no branch equals—
What grief looks like:
A knife rusted in the side of a goat.
No, no.
A shiny coin falling in water
And the fish dart for it.
from Journal
26jan01, flying west
yesterday a year ago was the last time my sister spoke to her children
five-days-before-they-died
isn't it homeopathic, the ocean now?
dilutions of her first daughter diluted
into not-penance-but-ocean-now
the could-have-beens!
the sparkling house
28jan01, my sister's house, Seattle
so what are we to make of the whole disappearing?
but there are still the girls' books and notes and keychains lit with dust,
and dust is just skin so I wonder—
are they here in the dust
in the paper this morning—
a partial list of what-was-found
bandana-slash-camera-slash-jeans
in two days they're burying all unidentified remains
into a common grave
my mother is trying to paint again
the bird outside the window doesn't take off but gets caught in the branches
and the sky's all tangled, too, reluctant to get bright
even claire's hair is getting light
