Once I lived in a nest. It was secure, well-padded, built of bric-a-brac I’d collected over the years. Now I’ve moved into a treehouse. Wind blows through this house, carrying filaments of summer’s end: fog of morning, scent of cedar, bark of dog, shadow of leaf. Branches have grown through this treehouse, in careful regard of one another, I suspect. Sheddings of fir and spruce and pine and cedar and gooseberry, stink current, huckleberries red and blue, and some […]
Through stealthy and deliberate harvest of deciduous shrubs she has taken over the freezer Rubus spectabilis. Rheum rhabarbarum. Vaccinium parvifolium. Vaccinium deliciosum. Ribes bracteosum. and sealed this spell with fridge magnets.
You don’t break into places. That’s what you tell yourself. But it was already broken – you’ll explain to the imaginary officer, who nonetheless shoos you off like a grumpy old caretaker… probably hates children. Or it’s for your own safety. Which it is, probably. Industry housing – built for a boom and abandoned in the bust – row houses with the same frames but each distinguished by its particular state of guilt, like faces in a police line up. […]