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Cropping the image I see how sparse the yield this year of further wearing— I find my way there by fewer paths but know those fewer paths more intensely, the bits I have lost are not lost to the greater picture, and when I saw it closely, obscurely, or in panorama, I could see what would be hidden from me. A wasp’s single mud cell, the crumpled body of a window spider tapping
The woman we called Morning limped down Washington Street, asking for a dollar. Everyone knew it was just a matter of time. Government wasn’t an enabler. No Narcan to resurrect zombies. Folks dropped, leaving brown puddles. Heroin ate people. Every day a little thinner, disappearing into clothes like ghosts. Till they were ghosts on Washington forever, their nothingness enough
We were in the jacuzzi when Speedoman entered the pool area and our lives. There were five of us, all sitting spaced apart, the warm water bubbling up to our hairy chests. Outside, it was gray and snowing, the roads icy. We came to the Ford Community Center in the heart of Dearborn, Michigan, every Saturday afternoon to work out—intense cardio followed by weight training—and
They talk around the horror. For as long as they can stand it, they talk about stamina, the races they’d been training for, about their weekly mileage, their best split. They talk about their favorite trails and how the foot-give, the quiet, the way the sun crested over the ridge each morning on their last pass brought them peace, accomplishment. A good sweat. They talk
The receptionist, Esther, was in a bad mood, and complaining to the dental hygienist about a string of canceled appointments. “Why can’t people just let us know if they’re not coming in?” she asked. “We only ask for twenty-four hours’ notice: it’s not that hard. I’m just trying to plan a day here, people.”