THE MIRROR OF SIMPLE SOULS
I do not like old water.
The water in the ocean is old
The lake is old
But maybe it’s not
Subject to the logic of time, of old and new.
Water.
Because in the kitchen, it’s difficult to lie
Because the yearbook photo shows long straight hair parted down the middle, Marcia Brady-style
Because in my son’s mind, he has only one dziadek & babcia & that blindspot diminishes me more each day
The earliest, from my brother (June 2007) was twelve seconds long: “Hi, it’s me—aww, fucking-A!—Hi, it’s me, call later, I guess.”
Then the first day of August 2007, twenty seconds: “Hi Amanda, this is Ollie, I just saw the news a bridge fell down in Minneapolis—I hope you weren’t on it. I guess that’s why I’m calling. I’ll try you later. Okay, love you, bye.” I was working at the café when I missed the call.
