Thursday, September 22, 2016

Hawk Season Notebook #335



Hawk Season Notebook #335

Dead winter beach.  Driftwood and a salt-wind. Someone is holding your hand; you remember this much. A vase of schoolteacher flowers. You are costumed for a photo studio... handed a teddy bear you could love. You're quite little and cannot draw breath. Someone lifts  you onto a stainless steel gurney; you remember this much... and a rubbery, vibrating odor of ether. Anxiety comes back in dreams. You claw off the bed, land on the floor next to the Wolfhound... and Peaches says, You're not on your own. Back on the bed, awake for hours, you listen to your wife breathe. Outside, wheeling over big sagebrush, huge-winged dark birds speak to one another of keeping and of giving away.

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