in a shoebox somewhere in the closet
are the little paper houses
my glamorous great-aunt
gave my grandma for Christmas
All articles filed in memory
reflection
no breeze blew upon the prairie
no wind rustled the knee-high grass
as i passed through the field
of cedars toward the pond
for the keeping
i found our younger selves today tucked away
in a box in a corner of the basement,
the you of then not even ten years older
than the me of now.
what was here before
they’re framing in rowhouses on the corner lot
where i once paused to watch the sunset over the thick green grass
every old thing
she walks softly
over the rug the grandmothers
wove knot by silken knot
all that’s left
all the old faces invaded my dreams last night
bringing with them a sense of homesickness for the days we shared
granny’s dollies
last thanksgiving granny gave me her dollies
we carefully lifted them from their wrappings
smoothed their skirts, their faces
said their names
all i know of luxumbourg
all i know of luxembourg
is a petrol station
fürchtenmachen
i heard the voices rise and fall
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dear joan
“… I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be.” — Joan Didion, Slouching Toward Bethlehem
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