Winter 2018
“Can’t you see Hemingway’s having breakfast with his grandson?”
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I open the door and Eleanor is leaning against the wall, paper white.
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If Vann kisses her, a mist will rise in her brain. A promise of oblivion.
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If others call you a maniac or a fool, just let them wag their tongues.
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the woman wiped her hands on her apron saying “lord these children”
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Do the work. Every day. Take a step back and see if you love it.
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They do good things for us, the bats. But we do not want them there.
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