A Birth

Between two palm trees I watched the Earth eclipse the moon. Its shadow slid slowly, carefully, partially across, leaving a crescent sliver at the top. As it passed, the moon’s fullness again was revealed. Neighbors gathered on the sidewalk to watch the ceremony. I would learn later a friend’s son was born at that exact moment, 2,700 miles away. I imagined the child’s first view, through the hospital window, of the moon slowly escaping the shadow, and my friend missing it entirely.

No. 165

Replacement

An apartment building in the neighborhood hired plumbers to redo the pipes. They came through and bisected the front lawn, then bisected the sections. From these narrow trenches they dug out the old, rusting pipes. As they pulled them out, the metal fractured under their touch. Metal flakes fell into the grass and became lost. The workers lined the old pipes along the side of the road. At the end of the day, job half-finished, they stuck metal spikes along the perimeter, then wrapped caution tape around each spike. The workers cut plastic water bottles in half and placed them like severed heads. As my dog walked past the upturned yard, he pleaded with his eyes to run in the dirt and dig the holes deeper.

No. 142

Cooling

After running it, make sure to use the fan setting to dry the unit out, building manager reminded everybody. First heat wave of the summer: ran the unit; it sputtered and coughed up dust. No cool air. The neighbor threw it onto the sidewalk, and the back cover fell off in two pieces revealing a skeleton of wires, pipes, fan blades, blower wheels, motors, pumps, and filters. Looking up: the new unit, shiny in the sunlight, already dripped water onto the sidewalk below. The puddle collected beneath the husk of the broken.

No. 124

Thirst

Between the leaves young sprouts grow, light green in their nascence. Fresh soil replanted for the start of Spring. A dramatic plant—she goes limp and lies frail along the edge of the pot, feigning death, indicating in a sort-of domestication the need for water.

No. 092

Orange flesh

Spiral recurrences: a life repeating, no—growing, changing, stepping up or down. Every moment is an opportunity for new beginnings. Mandarin orange peeled when the thumb presses into the bottom and breaks flesh. Eight even pieces, torn apart. Canine teeth pierce the membrane and juice comes spilling out. Always you can find a way to say, Now.

No. 019