27 May 2006 | Vol. 6, No. 1
She's in lace-edged socks and holds a berry-picking
basket. A prudent voice like the weatherman:
better bring an umbrella. Better mind the skyline
during your long drive. She eats sugar by the handfuls
straight from the bag. She can only imagine cars
on the highway. Thinks they must glint like boats
on a blue harbor. She can only imagine boats
on a blue harbor. She doesn't drive. Can't fill out
her forms without me—Who is our emergency contact?
Where do we live now? Once she held a spatula
against the flame until it caught the curtains,
then her dress, then her flesh. What a mess
that was. I entertained the reaper as he waited at our
crumb-strewn table, bones around a coffee cup, for her
to burn down to a manageable puddle. I exaggerate.
But you're dripping wet! Did you forget your umbrella?