Trail of Crumbs

“Learn to love silence and the taste of water.” ~ Dave Bonta


There is only a column of stones
where the fireplace used to be.

What was the thunk in the night of a green body
falling from the tree? Jackfruit, or avocado?

The heady smell from the garden is strongest
at noon: red-streaked tongues of ginger lilies.

If you take a candle and look in the mirror at midnight,
the gaunt face of your future bridegroom will appear.

No one around: waking from groggy sleep after giving birth,
finding the bathroom; jellied spiral of blood on the floor.

One memory of moonlight: my mother patiently filled spaces
between large, flat stones on the walk with smaller pebbles.

The furl of a fish fin in pond water: scallop
of vanishing rouge, tip of a mossy hieroglyph.

Dry bread, still sweet, softens in a cup of amber-
colored tea. This you can drink, and eat.


In response to How to lose.


  1. Whew. So you can just hop up and go to work after writing something so good? It seems like you ought to fall into a coma for two weeks, and be revived then, with difficulty, by a passing king.


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