By Rachel Eliza Griffiths
Your names toll in my dreams.
I pick up tinsel in the street. A nameless god
streaks my hand with blood. I look at the lighted trees
in windows & the spindles of pine tremble
in warm rooms. The flesh of home, silent.
How quiet the bells of heaven must be, cold
with stars who cannot rhyme their brilliance
to our weapons. What rouses our lives each moment?
Nothing but life dares dying. My memory, another obituary.
My memory is a cross. Face down. A whistle in high grass.
A shadow pouring down the sill of calamity.
Your names wake me in the nearly dark hour.
The candles in our windows flicker
where your faces peer in, ask us
questions light cannot answer.
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Half my afternoon and evening got derailed talking to people on Facebook (in some cases people I didn't know) about the student walkouts, gun control, and politics in general, so I will keep this brief. It wasn't a super exciting day anyway apart from the fact that, using $20 in bonus bucks from my Sears credit card that I didn't have to spend any money to get in the first place, I got us a new toaster oven, since the heating element in ours hasn't worked right in ages and the handle was kind of melting off.
We had chili pie for dinner in honor of Pi Day, unfortunately while we were watching the very bloody start of this week's X-Files with Rose who had stopped by to see us and the cats (I still liked it better than last week's terrible witchcraft story, in part because vampire stereotypes bother me less and in part because of the shippiness). The didactic Designated Survivor always suffers by comparison afterward. Here are some photos from last fall at the Prospect Park Zoo in Brooklyn with Adam:
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