By Suzanne Gardinier
Between the blinds Past the coded locks
Past the slanted gold bars of the day
Smelling of all-night salt rain on the docks
Of grief Of birth Of bergamot Of May
In the wind that lifts the harbor litter
Wet against my fingers in a dream
Salvaging among the tideline’s bitter
gleanings Generous Exigent Lush and lean
Your voice A tune I thought I had forgotten
The taste of cold July brook on my tongue
A fire built on thick ice in the winter
The place where lost and salvaged meet and fit
The cadences a class in grief is taught in
The sound when frozen rivers start to run
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It rained all day Tuesday, which is probably just as well because I had so many things to catch up on. Because I had confused the day, I was wearing sweats and trying to upload photos while editing an essay when my neighbor Cybel came to get me for lunch, but that ended up being a delightful break -- we went to the mall, did a little shopping, and ate in the food court, where the crepe place sadly still isn't open but the mezze place Cava is. The laundry didn't get folded, but it was a lovely afternoon!
Our evening involved The Flash (I keep thinking the Arrow crossovers will make me want to go back to watching Arrow but it's sort of the opposite) and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (glad May got some backstory, not all that impressed with what it turned out to be) followed by the Avengers on Jimmy Kimmel special (thank you cast for being you, you make fandom a pleasure even when Kimmel is being a jerk). Os won, Nats lost. I'm looking for ways to stomach election season. Hillwood orchids this spring:
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