Friday, December 7, 2007

P.S. I Ate the Cookies

I wonder if I’ve found a way, or if
I’m finding it: if so, it’s surely more
the lucky product of surviving family

extinction than the exercise of wise
examination of the measly evidence
of what is left: scrabbled up like

broken seashells on the beach: sharp
shards of death, what used to be,
beyond my interest or my reach: all

that isn’t any more: except as it may
fuel reliance on – defiance of –
selective memories – those teasing

jabs that pass for Past. Expedience
is all the mind cares for. I have three
choices: sex, or decadently chocolate-

chunked soft cookies, or my first
dive into Proust. My life is mine today,
my dears: that menu is the proof.


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