Now that the Israeli has left, it falls on me to make the salad.
I count my homes— those of my scattered youth the sanctuary of our young family the intermittent rest stops of apartments and vacations.
Just starlight and some small scribbling across vinyl.
We stop doing dishes while a mile unwinds from the tree outside.
If my life was the size of my arm, I would stretch it out for you.
You said it was okay to blame what goes wrong on the planet
I am still waiting for the lion
it’s touch-and-go with me and weddings
Part of being a good sad person is always painting the shadows in the right direction and knowing what sorrow to art with.
I am not a guide for every traveler of loss.
It recommended soft porn, as gentle prodding and petting parent to parent might calm and soothe the kid.
you know that baby swallows make silver ripples in wild rivers to court reeds?
We found in his suitcase T-shirts, his siddur, gifts he bought for his grandchildren…
The two of us toast to a man we both love, to whatever degree, clink our glasses and laugh…
my friends’ fathers are dropping I mean dying like flies
I’msorry I‘ll see what happens iLife
Millions of Americans have been affected by identity theft. It’s probably the greenhouse gases.
Empty vessels make the most sound, I think, as you rip the fairy lights off the handrail.
I imagine that undressing a color, though, would be so much like peeling a memory away from the grey and the white matter of your brain.
Try not to see your own predicament in every fucking thing.