You’ve got to face the music, Sweetie, my father would say, this refrain of my childhood chiming surer than Sunday’s church bells, than the neighbor’s pug barking at every car. He’d say it, and then say nothing else, as
Day: June 9, 2023
Beside the sagebrush rolls a tumbleweed devilling dust across the desert. Leave specters to their romp—leave them to upend earth behind their iron gate. Listen carefully. Push your boulder up the mesa. Hear the grit of wind and brace.