Lake Michigan stirs nervously, as if to begin simmering.
Sarah, when jittery, could fit the universe into one long skipping sentence.
My oven was grimy when I left in December.
A calm Sarah could invent three meals in one breath.
The sparrow on the yellow line warms over in the evening sun.
Her bed made us a breathtaking coffin.
The L shrieks from rust beneath the pavement.
Oh voicemail, her voice has never been less clear or more present.
Chicago snow banks glow in the morning like Boston homes at night.
Sarah's voice glowed in the morning like a Boston home at night.
Friday, February 20, 2009
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