You seed yourself like grasses in a field but also between the ochre stones of an ancient street. You bring on darkness and sunrise.
My sister empties drawers, boxes, plastic containers, jewelry cases, a backpack, a purse. With each emptying she calls out instructions for the things inside:
My first wedding dress—not white, not wedding. A frock bought off the rack for more than I had ever spent. Light gray with
Meningioma—a tumor that forms from the meninges, the membranous layers surrounding the brain and spinal cord. Don’t start with that don’t-you-love-your-body stuff. I’m not