I Keep My Little Sheep Brain in a Jar

At the Science Museum sheepbrain likes the fetus exhibit best. Weslide along the back-lit jars. Bulbsof many sizes float and squeeze their fists

and black pea eyes. Little sheep brain likesto watch me eat three hot dogs at the GalaxyCafé but not the buns. We exit quickly pastthe incubator chicks who hatch-re-hatch

their too-small tender wings. Usuallyis our favorite word. A day starts like this:open mouth aerobics in the dawn lightto practice humming and denials. Seven

grain cereal then a phone call where I answeryes then fine then yes and then we bangthe screen door three times out of safety. Weceiling check for spreading stains. Usually

the weather stain has grown northeast onecorner of an inch. Once a day we have our timeaway from one another. Sheep brain sitswindowsill and I outside so we are glass

and Venetian blind apart. I watch for extinctdeer. I imagine one might wobble fromthe Conoco on spindly legs. Usuallythis is a big enough day for sheep brain who

already starts to get a weariness about her. Whenlittle sheep brain wants to dream I shake her jarup vigorously. When nighttime comes a poolingof the face at corners. My little sheep brain wears

her earmuffs and I mine though hers are redand mine are mintish-blue. We wearour earmuffs so the hearing comes inquieter. I try to stay inside my brain and play

my stick and ball game but sometimes ribsand the space-betweeness of things, bundledcurses, huddle of almost in the throat. The emptyand the never-done are loud and bicker, not

quiet like you'd think. Mornings I limpheavy. Give two quarters of the listeningto sheep brain and she carries it for me. Thisis what love is. If little sheep brain dies

I will empty the contents of her jar ontothe stick grass of my yard. I will sitinside and watch the ravens comeand peck. Should I die first I have told

my little sheep brain in a jar to do the samefor me. Holstered on my hip is howmy little sheep brain walks as the dogwoodbloom and bloom.