I have a story too that unfolds and crumples
itself and I said to myself last night, “this
place is like porcelain.” The sudden break
or we're breathless. I made a note to ask you
if it contains the rain or continues to rain .
We carried pails away. Bits of us
got mixed up together. I love things like this,
“happenings.” The two letters, copied,
enclosed. Not engulfed. I'm suggesting
something to loosen the language, wingspread :
a butterfly, a Monarch. Everything is covered
in a thin dust. I clean at night like my mother,
drugged with language. I'll be “listening” in
my own way.
© 2006 Maggie Lopez