Published … Continue Reading ››
In Madagascar, the vanilla smells of old books traded across the street from the bar that drank my college rent. Volatile compounds hide in so many things that mean home—a spoon of extract sinking into eggs and sugar, almonds, an old letter steamed open that says I am waiting for you; come back. And another that says, I am gone.
Two heartbreaks ago you said, “no trash heaps, no more” but the shopping mall’s much better in the afternoons when everyone else is working, shoveling organs from the left pile to the right. “All’s fair sale,” said Mr. Mayor. The dogs followed behind close enough to trip on his trousers. “Sale today,” he said. “Buying today,” said the dogs. “I’m here to buy a new … Continue Reading ››
A belt, a pair of shoes, oil stain on the driveway— these can be incriminating. Someone drank mojito, danced merengue, he may think on Sunday— only we haven't. We just stand in the living room —not the arch but the middle—staring, and daring each other. You mention a documentary. Maps of brain waves music makes in the minds of all animals. … Continue Reading ››