Here is the driveway, a row of dogwood. It isn’t lovely this time of year.
The path to righteousness must be paved even before we are ready.
I am recycling a moment: one October evening, little house, cars in the yard.
I long for someone (me, perhaps) to say absolutely.
A woman hands me a coin, presses it to my palm like a prayer.
I have been abandoned. (—scratch that—) I feel like I have been abandoned.
All forms of landscape are autobiographical, thank goodness.
Just so we’re clear, the darkness I’m about to show you is all mine.
–Erin Veith; from I Closed My Eyes To Tell That Story
(Latham House Press, 2014)