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2010-08-19 - 5:14 a.m.

where dead bullies go

i. charleston
driving south on 95, we nestled into the summer heat. when wealthy donors bequeathed funds to the museum, they would often insist that their pets' remains be curated in perpetuity. down in the collections, i pulled out a drawer filled with cockatiels, budgies, lovebirds and finches, their little glass eyes glinting in the unaccustomed light.

later, unable to sleep, i followed rustling palmettos and little calling frogs through the nighttime streets.

ii. new jersey
from his dirty, smoke-filled basement, my husband's dad is selling high-end vodka that fell off the back of a truck. one of his girlfriends was just arrested in atlantic city for assault and disorderly conduct. we all miss grandma watching lifetime in her recliner, an anchor to the world.

iii. maine
the lake was warm black silk under falling stars and the whole bright milky way.

iv. here
i've cleared out the pantry and the garden, replaced a cracked windshield and broken garbage disposal, sealed the floor in the garage, and given away most of my clothes. everything is so close to being something else, it's almost too much to bear.

* * *

reading: L'élégance du hérisson.
listening to: wye oak, for prayer. i'm in a blurry folk-noise mood.
working on: fall cleaning.
in the garden: waiting for the hurricane lilies.

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