A week after fumigation the Jade plant out front dropped its leaves, small fleshy pads littered the courtyard and I pushbroomed them into piles, the cement stained and slippery with their juice. Within a month the bark puckered and pulled away from the inside meat as if distancing itself from itself, drawing back from life […]
There is a problem with the calendar. Days flip by like cards from a deck and years change number without warning. All those holidays circled in red belong to people that don’t belong to you. Your house is a shell that the seasons bang against. Frost scars the windows and new growth strangles the rails.
The ocean is strange from this direction, sharp stoned and bottle green. Waves wear down the rusty cliffs and spill out over the coarse sand. You are on the other side, waiting, your mouth a thin horizon of doubt. At night the hills lean into the cold sky, the pier shifts and moans as I
