By Ana Bozicevic
Skinny dirt road
In the middle of the ocean.
That led to the house of art.
I took it. The engine nearly
Drowned. I lied that it was fun
That I'd do it again. When I got to
That shore
The house was gone and when
I looked back, so was the path.
Now I'm old. Drown in my bed
A thousand miles inland.
For years I thought
I could
Art my way back. Cats sing
Of rose dawns. This country's a
Mirror image
Of the one I left, except
I've bad dreams. And
You're the only
Person who's not here.
Is it the same
For you.
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We actually had both kids around for lunch, though they both slept late after staying up late, so since it was a gorgeous hot-but-not-insane Saturday, we went to Pennyfield Lock to see the canal and river. There were adolescent goslings and a unicyclist, lots of turtles and lots of kayakers, and it's a very lush green summer because we've had so much rain!
Adam went out to dinner with a friend; the rest of us watched Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland with Cheryl who was watching at her own house. We want our own frog servants, pig foot rests, and wise blue Alan Rickman caterpillars, and we promise to treat them better than Helena Bonham Carter does. The Nats won a double-header!
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