How to get to water in your quarantine space:
Sound machine of simulated waves crashing real high all night long beginning at 10pm. I thought it was a storm. It traveled from Ava’s room to my bed, a shared wave. I see foam, feel sick, cloudy with my blankets. Aware there is her room, her fantasy for rest and pleasure. We can take our bikes and ride to Riis Beach but we don’t. A postcard of a lake in my desk drawer.
carte du tendre
pear & belly button & hair & bird admiring & cleaning stove & transparent anxiety & quiet-loud & bagel & lilac & imposition& re-position & stamps & boiling & knees & roundabout & soothe & butter & ants & hail & enlarge & nightlight & tv & leaking rain & manchego & lotion bottle & sounds of sleep & large trees & gales & pills & pilling & neighbor’s chimes & herbs & filtered light & deliveries & new vacuum & accustomed gesture & low lamp & water rings & claws & nonsense billowing & success & rates & envelope sculpture & green clump & paragraph & index finger & clippings & ice water & pumpernickel & kale & breeze & mounting & celery rib & fridge & tiny laugh & griddle & wailing time & quilt & mats & rummaging & random exhale & jelly & one drop & feral cat & shrieking & pancake flip