i’m really here for the grass between houses
the views of grass between
houses, paint chipped and wrapped in porch
you ask me about my earliest memory it's one of those questions
for which i need an agent, like the word bedroom
to drive my recall otherwise frozen
fanny howe* in july, reading indivisible on and around the 4th
he said I should dj halloween music at the party next weekend
october’s perennial lust plays/disparate yet simultaneous tones
click, or I let them/drive my recall
drive under waning, tepid sun to my friend’s birthday in the woods
my friend who writes, the force of a weather event or miracle…
to seek a miracle in a weather event, to make a brief church in the parking lot
the storm begins, we eat cake and she reads to us from a book that someone loves
i’ve read it too but today i’m the grass between houses
a weather event, a physical attempt to stir the objects of her life—
objects as agents of recall
the markers, the Chagall,
each stair, but collage with
how they felt on my feet
i remember the parking lot where you could pick up a radio frequency that played one boyz II men song over and over
Now the rain is letting up and a soft blue light is sifting through the flannely clouds. Gullies of water gurgle down the canyons and birds sing. I feel dread. The opening up of light and sky, the return of the responsibility that the empty air brings, horrifies me. Since God has abandoned the world, it is time who is left watching over us. Time is the spirit who breathes into the world. When it was raining, water was like an apology.*
