suitcases, continued

3.You will make everything fitinto a finite space–the bails of haya container for grief– He stacks, you sweep–There is no sweeping, not tonight. This–is–called—-weepingwhere he lay sleepingor is it—–the falls, the canyon, your journey Stack and fill and stackthe walls emerge in her vision–you look away–find the bags–move to the next new moment. Advertisements


I went to see some short films on Friday night, and one of them was about a woman’s experience of Alzhiemer’s. It was really interesting, and it reminded me to go back to this series of poems I started writing about my grandmother’s deteriorating dementia. She went through a period where everything she did centered…