July 1st

today i emptied a house into boxes and suitcases carried the insides onto the porch to be taped up and expertly loaded into a truck. and didn't say enough. but promised to be in touch. last night i slept next to a human skull in her basement. i'm not sure why it's there, but i felt safe watching it, so old and solid behind the glass cabinet door. i am afraid of many things, but not bones. our synapses and livers and fingernail slivers and the way the wrong songs always come on the radio at the right time. and how, like sand that ticks and builds, slips through our fingers and packs into castles, the things we know help us less or more. we're never sure.