Posted by Franny on Apr 08 2013, in Uncategorized
In February, Jeff Bush was sitting in his bedroom when the earth suddenly and swiftly swallowed him whole. Florida earth is riddled with these underground lakes-turned-caves-turned black holes, which gulp down houses and sycamores like spaghetti noodles. The ground no safer than swiss cheese layered with grass, hunters’ dugouts designed as solid earth.
At times, my heart is a mapless minefield. One minute I’m sitting on a couch with my lover, and the next, I’m at the bottom of a well, staring at the distant moon of sky. Then all I know is limestone, earthworm, shadow. Broken bits of furniture, what was once a lamp. My lover’s calls echo their way down to me, but the world above ground is too heaven in this earth. I lose track of my own name as I sit among the buried things, feel their black shapes, cut my hands on the bones, wonder at what terrible beasts left behind such thorny remains.