not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, October 20, 2013


in my grandmother's attic there was a jettisoned pile of old tarps, not plastic but leather.  under the tarps was a trunk.  and in the trunk - well, i'll never know.  but my grandmother locked the attic door and folded up the ladder and carried it with great labour (she was bow legged), out across her yard and into her barn to rest inside the last unused stall, bits of hay or dust nudged aloft in the process and biting at the light in the air, each time she retrieved or placed anything from or into the attic.  this is how i know there are secrets.