chapter 1
Poem
HUFFINGTON
09.23.12
desertion
Summer’s stock is steam
and rows repeating:
pickle, pudding, jam,
the ribs of stairs,
porch white as a wedding.
Home is half habit:
stacks of salt, a measure of milk
whisked, wiped and soured.
Days come notched in quarter-hours
and hope, scant as sleep,
goes slippered down the hall.
Home is silt and settling,
a ring, a rose, a reason.
Adrift with the day’s dust,
heat insisting on a castiron cure. The door opens
on dark advice, swings
on a severed str [