Mnemosyne / Remembrance
Sunk into the fresh washed sheets, I dreamed three blind mice dusted the unplayed piano for what seemed like the first time in a thousand years. They became the three pedals in a jubilation. The keys were sticky and off but the sound was comfort. Stink bugs buzzed about, hit the walls, and buzzed about again. Nature shields. I saw a hawk in the sky and its wings sprawled across the iris of the sun. I remembered when I married the sun and the earth fell into my ears. The moon hung over my heart and I wondered where the stars went but then I saw them in a hole made whole in the teal dress with just a little stitch of thread. I remembered last I wore that dress when I sat in the grass by the doves entranced by the heartbeat of the ground and a sailboat around the corner. Maybe I can wear it again- in the spring. Doves make me wonder if I’ll ever know grace other than fierce grace-
if mourning ever ends.
Rib bone cages ache when I laugh cry at the dead circled around the cat’s water bowl. “He’s not coming back,” I told them, “I still refill it anyway, for all of you.”
The stink bugs aren’t strong enough to keep them out and I don’t lock my doors. They know. They drank the water as if it was a sacred waterfall and they danced on the shades leftover from the season in a frenzy bending the black and white keys into the beginning of a sundry piano song.
Turning the wheel with the mice.