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another late thank-you [14 Feb 2007|01:10am] 1. Grandma, we speak through eyebrows and hugs, and you missed the point: I ruin envelopes. A cloud— maybe a pillow—lies where your second marriage is held, and I am a fever writing you thank-you notes. I cannot learn—you are still Grandma Barger to me. 2. Things: green corduroy, fuzz from Anny, you. Grandma, do you remember an olive car parked—a boatish blockage in Mommy's driveway? He let me sit as luggage (trunkwise) when I begged to join the parade back to Butler. This six-year-old needs Raggedy Anny and grandparents. 3. While you were afraid of answering machines, I rode his knee. I need this again. Grandma, I am sorry for late thank-you notes.

this cartography [06 Jan 2007|02:28am] There is some shape born in beasts, like trees—we are pumped through by blood, a mess of organised lines. A main flow begins heartwise, branching into veiny hands (now blue with effort, by way of ebony fingerboards, stressed and sweated). Is it mere coincidence that riverbeds, when wet, appear in similar form—that creeks fall water into streams, into rivers? That same bulk begins a trunk, spanning wide fingers of bark as limbs of a thicker form—leaves then shrink this trend and smaller vessels descend. As cells parade breathing warmth in bodies, phloem is dirty tree-blood (a carrier), and Sylvia left two deaths at my door today. She mews, inspecting her more recent kill: a male cardinal. His feathers, too, grow in Nature’s form— do we discount God as lazy in creation, or assume this map proves evolution in full?

[26 Sep 2004|12:34pm] comment to be added. <3. 10 | quite.

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