Picking up the detritus of the dead
Bending to a thin lock of hair, inhaling the musty
laundry of the home bound, an open
book there by the chair. I could never
retrieve the stories my mother left on her
computer, the house and its contents left to my brother -
i abandoned it all after the months of care.
returned to my mountain fastness, sealing
the doors.
Thinking of a friend who died while retrieving a lock of my dog's hair on the rug. Odd how the memories sprout in the head. Working on a long poem i wrote several years ago and urged by friend, Susan, to assemble for a video. Mercilessly cut and at half the length it reads much smoother - fun to look for photos which we may use. A project to take the news of the day off the neocortex.
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