To a Child

Monday, December 28, 2009

Threes are what I remember: back, side, more.

I still can cook, Julia. It is the only place where I admit
I don't know it all
but I stay close to it all, sleeping with the books piled around me,
vegetables on the shelves. Would fruits make a good pillow? (Like the one with the lace sham where we ate orange popsicles that August ninth before I had to leave for the first time and you had to say it back.)
The gear on my hindsight gets stuck in reverse so all I see is cannons of snow, bombastic on the sham turned gray and you're dead, Julia.
The threes folded together and the tree I won died on my back porch.

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