A year in the life of a cancer patient, illustrated through appointment letters. Just one or two.
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Note to self, and other selves who try to put their own feelings on shelves hidden behind a curtain, where they’re certain it won’t occur to other people to look.
When a prologue is both a pep talk and a dedication letter to the dead
I spend the first morning eavesdropping on the birds, carefully noting each inflection, every declaration. They trust me to handle this information with complete accuracy:
too, too
too… too too
whi whi whi whi whi whi
too too too too too
hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-
hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-gasp-hoo-
hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo
thp-thp-thp-thp-thp-thp
The meaning of this compilation of sounds is top secret.
A lone duck goes about its important business in shallowing waters. It appears there has been a drought here, but it is the place that makes me feel the most full, in many ways. Welcome home. There are only good things here.
