In Praise of Falling

Somewhere in a Box Marked Keep

Somewhere in a Box Marked Keep I’m looking for the words again, in the dusty file box marked literary theory, in the pistil of a red trumpet flower. Frigidaire offers its sputter and hum, with the neighbor’s leaf blower playing contra-rhythm as I tear up the house.The woman who lives in my broom closet taps her foot and advises, Remember when you had them last—a cornfield in Iowa, ; a university soccer game, hot cider and October rain. I think I left them at a rest stop on Interstate , on the shelf above the soap dispenser, in the space between I want and I will.Yesterday, I pulled open a head of red leaf lettuce and found the word chicory hiding in the center. I think I left them in that apartment in the WestVillage, in a cupboard, behind the recycling bin and the Clorox, in the wine box with the rag rug, where the fat old cat used to sleep.  Dumesnil PGS:Layout 1 4/28/09 12:32 PM Page 52 ...