My computer is broken. My phone is broken. My lock is broken. Heat is conspiring to send me indoors, to keep me in the attic, looking out, like Emily. But I not her. I am not afraid of the world. I will go out into it. I will write when I can.
Guard your heart always, a friend said to me once, a friend who I loved, who hurt me.
But I cannot. I would not even know how to do that. I have to love like I have never loved before. I have to live like I have never been hurt. Today they are watering the grass, though it is raining. My hair is thick and waved. I walked over the sidewalk to return a library book, the sidewalk wet and stained with berries from the trees above, black purple stains, gray water. It felt good to walk in them. It was beautiful to see, such ruin.
What do blackberries have to do with poetry? my friend Annie asked me once. We were eating crystalized ginger at the bar. She would get married, then disappear.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know. I know now. Sweetness. I love still.