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An abundance of bad luck
About thirty minutes North of you, when winter still began in November, a man died and June was born.
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I know, I know, I know
In another life, I am a man sitting on a fold-out chair with a wet rag in my hands, waiting for the cars to roll in
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Green bedsheets in a small room
It was too warm for touching: they held onto each other at their toes. Sometimes one of them would open their mouth to speak, mutter something incoherent, lost to the humid air that stagnated at the open window.
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Surfacing
There is a person on the beach, and their name is June or Jude or some other name beginning with a J. It’s on the tip of your tongue, lifting with the salty breeze and coating your lips with white streaks of salt; something still there but already gone.
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Themes of distant yet frequent death and subsequent unsettling grief
This place is not a welcome place. Autumn is ending. Death is close.
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The universal gesture for peace
Each time we play cards, I find I have forgotten the names of the suits and their kingdoms, the rules of this game, the first game we played together.
