Monday, February 9, 2015


Her mind is an apartment where good things
spoiled over long summers

Where photographs yellowed
grew brittle so she could scarcely touch them

One memory after another dulling so that
all that is left are negatives.



The power of the minimalism here reminds me so much of Amy Hempel.

I am so liking your turn from previous introspection to current exposition.

"My Uncle" above is spot on vivid.

ib said...

Thank you.

The turn is no doubt down to my beginning to read again. For the past two or three years, I have been unable to unless I have forced it on myself like some foul-tasting medicine. Breaking all the rules. I don't know why this should be case. Anyhow. My curious digging through the crates - at least those emptied on my shelves - is unquestionably the prompt.