my mother's wasp nest, found in a drawer wrapped in paper. she knew the important things when she spied them. her cat, now mine, happy asleep smiling, pushing hard against the glass that keeps it from her, pushing, pushing as close as she can get, and good enough; they sprawl lopsided lazy together across the shelf.
iphone. earlier this year. pink shadows.
i told someone today that i'd been absent here because august needed me more than i needed words. truth. but i begin to feel their pull in the late hours of night when outside the darkness is still and filled with cicadas still singing and tree frogs ditto, when the inside is still and filled with only the swoosh of the fan and the muted hum of the air conditioner and russell crowe on the silent tv.
yes. yes. i feel the words beginning to whisper in my ear.