notions

linen… 

whole flax seeds go in the cupboard. ground flaxseeds should be refrigerated. walnuts should be refrigerated. goat cheese should not be stored in a closed container. the dried edge of cheese makes me sick. my window is open and the noise of water sobbing keeps me up. sometimes the noise of a heartbeat in the bed slats. yellow defamiliarizes headlights. defamiliarizes as in shears them from themselves shears shadows, unsettling into the shape of thing not the thing itself. an old german told me about her affair with the american highway system. i remember pennsylvania well. we sat with our canceled train. ingrid told me the blue in my eye was kind. sometimes she misses the highway. sometimes she doesn’t remember the highway. it takes ten spinners to spin enough flax fiber into thread for a four square inch of linen. linen does not need to be refrigerated. 

marking… 

the clouds kept on until only torn edges evidenced the storm, a passerby, in the delicate falling of degrees and gazes. people walked to themselves quietly, imbalanced songs in step, turned me so human. 

a shower with no soap, waking… 

the dirt is clean. dirty is yellow and dirty is too long lived in without an opened window. a whole is value. a half is valued. a whole fits in two palms a half in one. a crescent shape embraces, makes space, decorum, levels the dirty, warms the yellow, warms the room. a bag fell of its own accord, startled the laundry which, quiet, filled the role of static, of warm lighting. the laundry made the room lived. 

swells 

the wind kept on, collecting textures of flax, collecting blue flowers, swelling, saying no. the wind kept on. she’ll roll up. i’ll press on. she’ll dry out again.