Two small things, written in a parked car, served on a Wheat Thin to you.

I. Hours later, even, I can smellthe chlorine on my skin.A sudden trace, the tanglike a lover’s familiar scent.Coming home to myself,only slightly late,every time. II. The brash internet reviewdeclares that NO ONE has liveduntil wiping with bamboo.That seems a little extreme —but who wouldn’t try to test it? In early plague daysof empty grocery … Continue reading Two small things, written in a parked car, served on a Wheat Thin to you.