k ate a rabbit corpse, patrick said he heard the bones cracking like wood in fire, later put my ear to his stomach to listen for the sound, wanting something like bugs bunny ears in a witch’s cauldron, bubbling bile purse, pulsating sac of acid rabbit, but no hare of a sound poked through, just a heartbeat, my ear on fur, if i could remember putting my toddler head to my mom’s abdomen listening for my little brother inside, i don’t, i’m sure i did, the piano tuner begrudgingly accepting my tip with a gee whiz, later saying if i had my rather’s in regards to where the piano should be placed in a house, memory like gossamer, memory like fog, memory like implanted organ, call it incommensurable doubt
— Isabel Allende, The House of the Spirits
Li-Young Lee - “Mnemonic”
from his collection Rose
Once, I was cold. So my father took off his blue sweater.
Last day of work at St. Joseph Montessori School in Columbus, June or July 2011.
From when I first lived in Columbus at Monster House, probably late January, early February 2010.
Being gone: Writing as reconstruction, memory as re-representing / atrophying mechanism, and the existence of multiple bodies coinciding at different velocities, accelerations, decelerations and identities in spaces* usually designated as houses
At my other blog, SIMPERING FOOL, I blogged to a massive extent, about a two week poetry tour I went on in April.