Prose 2022

She is at liberty to share what has happened in her head. The rain light parses fact. She reports the wind and furniture landed in yards and pools as she has lifted beyond norms and grooves of usual chronology. I listen with my pencil recently carved now poised to capture. She knows unfettered ways of knowing from her bed bound authority that frees us all. There was the color wind last night erasing all facsimiles of anchored place that hollows out reality we think we need.

People gather and express their loss in a quiet way at slow speed, just savoring together the comfort of sharing how subtraction feels to heart and skin. One among them is the first to try to claim the place that's opened up by way of the departure. Missing the point of sadness and rushing to fatten up the coffer at the first chance.