I wrote you a letter yesterday, while the sun slid down, our son squalling in his sheets. I wrote, I filled three sheets word by word, letter by letter before I turned the lights down before I sang him down to sleep, and down came the rain in rivers and in sheets. This much is … Continue reading What I wrote
幼稚園 a red backpack bigger than you 一年生 gap-toothed smile and mismatched socks 二年生 an uncaged bird on wheels, not wings 三級 knowing the ropes brother in tow 四年生 torn shirt and wounded heart 五年生 solid as a tree with deep roots
Love is finite, like the stars
i. I see myself in the stumps and pits where trees used to grow in the absence of the white pine where I measured myself against the height of green branches that slowly overtook the front yard and cast shadows that frightened me as a girl I see myself in the cracks between the flagstones … Continue reading Elegy for a small town childhood
You once told me, the moon is made of salt, that all the tears that ever were are kept hidden there, disguised as dust. You spoke matter-of-factly, your pale face made sanguine by the dying sun. With deft fingers you stole dew from the grass, bade me drink from your palm. Above us, fronds of … Continue reading The truth of honey and salt
Christine Hanolsy 