Rachel Mindell
Dear attention span,
we were standing
around the fire
but you sat
on the dirt
and wouldn’t
stop texting.
I wonder,
wander.
My skull’s
liminality
nets a loose
cage and
your binds
are blinding.
C’mon then
let’s get down
on real brass,
pull time’s belly
back and grip
for spine.
Let’s sink
down in this
forever dirt,
really dig in
our dying
heels. Here
are my hands,
here my hiding.
I hunker
then shine
high breams.
I douse you
in all the
nothing I’ve
saved up. At
some point
the road starts
heading only
downhill and
apparently
some folks
dig that.
A ring I never remove links two families by way of a story whose intricacies exceed the scope of this description. My pointer finger's talisman was created in Bisbee, AZ circa 1970. Its thick band is silver and the detailing bears chunky dollops of gold.