The Uses of Memory

"You'd think it would be easy, living."

A couple of days ago I chanced upon this photo; I suppose it's the Pacific, but it might be Sturgeon Bay. I wanted to try the iPhone app Luminance on omething--and this is only one of many beautiful results.The near channel is the color of the purple velvet dress I sewed for my mother. She got up from an illness to have me make the final fitting (it was for a special event) and afterwards, whenever she wore that dress, she felt like she had the flu again. She was never able to successfully wear it. It is going to bug, bug, bug me until I find the group of photos this belongs with.and get sure about the place.

Memory is a strange, strange thing.

I am sticking with Adam Zagajewski for tonight. I know I need to return to Sei Shonagon,
Marcus Aurelius and the gang, but for tonight. .

Again from Mysticism for Beginners, p.26

You Are My Silent Brethren

You are my silent brethren,

the dead.

I won't forget you. 

In old letters I find traces of your writing,

creeping to the page's top

like a snail on the wall of a psychiatric ward.

Your address and phone numbers pitch camp

in my notebooks, waiting, dozing.

I was in Paris yesterday, I saw hundreds of tourists,

tired and cold. I thought, they look

like you, they can't get settled, they circle restlesslhy.

You'd think it would be easy, living.

all you need is a fistful of earth, a nest, a jail,
a little breath, some drops of blood, and longing.

You are my masters, the dead.
Don't forget me.