release

          she strained to hold on to the good parts when the not-so-good parts were hard to shake off            

in her house

          “Vague memories hang about the mind like cobwebs” ~ George Eliot            

drive in

        summer nights we’d pile in the back of dad’s station wagon in our pajamas equipped with blankets, pillows and paper bags full of junk food and fall asleep halfway through the feature            

giving way

          “How long before the eaves gave way to the sky, or the bathroom floor was jack-hammered to bone, while the trees outside were left to redirect the wind? How quickly the den must have become more kitchen and bedrooms lost their privacy. I see the books we’d packed up and moved years ago under a pile of fresh rubble,…

the way home

          “But every memory is turned over and over again, every word, however chance, written in the heart in the hope that memory will fulfill itself, and become flesh, and that the wanderers will find a way home, and the perished, whose lack we always feel, will step through the door finally and stroke our hair with dreaming, habitual fondness,…