To make the lost person’s location become known
forget nothing of the field & see that you were wrong
As in no field
no exilic
no arcticality
no longer a knot of inexplicable pain
As in
make no light & list the misunderstandings to leave
unresolved as the snow disappears
& lest you trample
at the brink of a public abyss
see sura & suġat, & the boy who was surprised
when we rolled to a stop in Siqnazuaq—
he thought the land a long way off
When we had access to the same facts
we had access to the same language
before he made a wound of political declension &
before we knew what it was to have evacuated our island
our story & series of syllables
before we wanted anything so dangerously that we went back
to invent it again
To make the song
go up to the mountains
or out on the sea until we no longer have to refuse
the help of a people who continue to want us dead
Planting in the high desert is about compromise. What can stand firm through careening wind? What can handle summer’s bubble-wrap heat? Aside from a brief delirium with utterly wrong choices, for years I have put in flats of appropriate perennials. Of those that make it, some spread voraciously, draining moisture from each neighboring plant.
Write down a list of locations you love, places you still want to visit, acts of kindness you’ve witnessed, questions you harbor about home, a recipe for a vegetable you hate, the address of your closest community garden, library, or body of water.
