Thursday Evening. Houston.

Elizabeth Bishop's Moose
isn't tall enough to fill
all the spaces in this house
where CRAZY has spilled.
Saturated gauze keeps unfurling
even in my sleep, wet and yellow
with cold, edemic discharge
that would ruin all the dainty furniture
kept nice for company and visitors
who never come.

The Way I Remember It : A Reminder To A Sister

Two tiny plastic dogs: one white, one black. A set of Scotties.

The kind of cheap plaything parents buy for a noisome child in the backseat while traveling the New Jersey Turnpike. The kind of plaything a desperate single-mother with few prospects, and no money, few friends, and two children buys in desperation at the rest stop to quiet a noisome child---even though the purchase empties her purse of her last bit of change.

And still several miles (and several tolls) to go.

Tea & Sugar

When sugar melts in tea there is taste. That is known; not a noun; but a sense of something there in the water.