Before it gets here my skin explodes in rashes to warn of the nights coming hitched traveler with large luggage taking more space occupying fast as the light of the sun fades this year I earnestly wait for the jalapenos to pickle okra too turn the mason lid once release the gas, a sigh relaxed turn it back, tighten the routine at morning light kept me going forward I was their only release valve otherwise It drags, like a spell where my bottom quietly finds the left nook of the couch fingers holding tight, blankets warm to keep from digging too far in losing pieces giving up to matted, greasy hair and stillness for weeks on end this time, I'll do it for the pickles.
Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole 