Risk Management Memo: Wear and Tearby Mary Biddinger I want to be new again so I can do all the same things again, with the bricks set back, lawn in its last minutes, we never think of these things leaving us but they leave us. We know the train we're on will end at a log station in Wisconsin, all of our clothes in paper bags, only books with old covers, forget new ones, we're staying forever we thought, it was back when we were magnificent, or didn't know otherwise. The best way was to bury ourselves in small rocks the size of peas. You understood why I loved the story of stone soup, because it was all lies, and I believed something was nothing. Just figure in the weight of salt generated by one angry brow. It's the belly of the candle that does all the flickering. That's not true either, please bring back the cat that cut my chin with her back claw. Swing my suitcase like a warm rifle into a lake. Who needs a real ceiling when both parties tuck their own limitations into bed? Our structures already so unsound. We could not abide the sharp pilings of sleet you collected in your copper frying pan, and we both ate. |