In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

memories, ghosts, dreams 101 January 2007 Jacqueline Kudler This morning I remember to wash my hair and I am separating tangles between my fingers. A fat sun, squeezed between the rim of the window shade and the low black cloud on the horizon, warms my face, but you are not here. You are not here easing the Chronicle out of its plastic sleeve, scanning the sports page, laying it flat on the kitchen table, and you are not parceling out the vitamins at your place and mine. You are not downstairs at the fish tank tapping out food flakes on top of the water, and you are not slumped at your desk in the swivel chair, squinting at bills, or stretched back in the Lazy Boy arguing with the a.m. news. The low cloud rises to cover the morning, and shrouded in shadow now, I pull your green chamois shirt around my shoulders, but you are not here. Not at your chair at the kitchen table, not bundled in your half of the bed, not on your side of the living room couch, and you are everywhere but you are not here. ...

Share