Pawing Through the Remains
Climate change and the tangled roots of awareness. Out-of-tune music blaring from the rooftop of CIA headquarters. Who’s up there, living in a pigeon coup? is it someone to consult? Up we go on the freight elevator, like a pilgrimage of monkeys.
All around me weddings and funerals. A ceremony for all of it, a shortage of ritual.
There’s a big difference between dying slow and dying sudden. Low-flying birds and high-flying helicopters.
Off in a New York publishing house a brain child half my age with a masters from Brandeis puzzles over my synopsis for my latest novel. This she thinks, is not who we are, hits delete and goes back to pawing through a stack of chick lit.
