( via / via )

Impact of a nuclear bomb on the Dallas area.

"Revisiting

Our bridge home mortars
the broken wrist of water
in air and earth--a prosthetic
gesture. From here, our road
seams like a frayed gravel skein,
and home is a wooden knot
the width of my closed fist.

Apologies we've shifted,
like sand held in an houred
hollow with a rust of patience;
but each visit we've overstepped.

In retrospect, the way back's unkept,
and though I parse my breath in tandem
(treading an Odyssean pace), this
re-run road needs a porch light's grace.

In gratitude for arriving, our
door loses its latitude, unhandled
as a bone ajar, severed
at a knuckle's beating

(these are words for welcome,
tokens, like a host retreating)

but in the bare ache of greeting,
our arms are unlike a simile,
when proximity brings careful parallels
to breaking points of possibility"

--Emily Osborne in Safety Razor

Chalchiuhtlicueyecatl.

"Reread a flawed but personal favorite time travel novel called Time on my Hands, and at one point the protagonist is trying to explain his world-- 1994--to someone in 1938 and it occurred to me that it might be more difficult to explain 2025 to someone in 1994." --@tomtomorrow.bsky.social

Erasure.