“Bracelets Made of Scrabble Tiles”
Cloudy with a Fire in the Basement
[like a haiku found in the middle of the poem]
And the knotted wood
he kept in the garage
to throw out
was made into his coffin.
I like how the wood-good rhyme makes one almost expect “coffin” and “garage” to be sonorous companions. I do admire how the tension between keeping and releasing is worked through.
And so for day 2989