Terrible windy everything loose
is traveling
Kathryn Scanlan lived for fifteen years with a diary she found at an estate sale in Illinois, written by a woman in her eighties. This is all you need to know of a stranger, of yourself. Brevity is the soul towards the end.
He called. Not so good. Bleeding
Again. Trying to knit pincushion.
Immediacy is a relief. Every time I open the book I read a sufficient phrase.
D took cactus to basement
My mother's letters went through a few current concerns, then slowed to a coda as she looked out of the window: the crocuses are starting to come out. That was the part I liked.
Fine snow rabbit got away. I took
pictures of the frost ever where
beautiful
Kathryn Scanlan does not picture the diary writer, she says, after fifteen years of re-reading, re-forming the text she came upon by chance, she doesn't picture Cora Lacy, of Normal, Illinois, she is her.
