Narrative sequence in twenty-four parts, with illustrations.
Available from Like This Press.
Between the storm and jetlag, the wake was spent
trying not to laugh. But we pallbearers
had a fine time manning the porch out back
at Jeanie’s this afternoon while the women
held their swap meet for the family jewels
and the more valuable porcelain owls.
Then Kayla read from Grandma’s datebook
where every death and birth is written
as if they all happened in one year.
A group of owls is called a “parliament”.
Turns out, Grandpa Thiele was a well witcher.
Up ‘til now, my only memory
of him was taken more from a story
Mom still tells than fact: him holding Lucy,
our spayed cat, and barking, “Ach! Is pregnant!”
Dad says Goldfish or I might have the gift.
He remembered how he would hold his wrists,
helping him feel the pulse, and point
to where even the branches on a tree
bend together toward the buried water.