Water knows something about surviving great leaps. We love even the small ones so much we name them so that any person standing on
What I had forgotten was like a chasm, blue stones in a purple brook, a bird perched on my thumb. Hands popped through walls,
At first, she’s tiny, the size of a bucket, then soon my grief is everybody’s darling, a curly-haired toddler and into everything. The dirt.
The hydrangeas hang their faded bluish heads— my dozing mother, chin on her chest. The shade is sweet—I sit. It’s too hot to claim