Years ago, I was crashed in gram’s garden and Big asked me what I was doing. I told him I was looking up at the sky. He said, “That’s a misconception, Lennie, the sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.
When people fall in love, they burst into flames.
It's as if someone vacuumed up the horizon while we were looking the other way.
How can the word love, the word life, even fit in the mouth?
We wish with our hands, that's what we do as artists.
I gasp, because Isn't that just exactly what I've been doing too: writing poems and scattering them to the winds with the same hope as Gram that someone, someday, somewhere might understand who I am, who my sister was, and what happened to us.