The Revanchist’s Score (to Settle)

She is clearly not amused. Events have gone awry. It is her score (to settle) now—it is placid and peat-boggy notional—certainly “doable.” She will take back her river of grass. The dissonance is too much to bear. The timbre is in the blue spectrum according to her synesthetic nerve pincers. The shadings smell of coronal shadows. The sky will turn white. Each pitch shift has a half-life of citrus suffused with cadaver. She tilts her ear to the sun—it is all hers for the taking. She tips her right index finger, points it up at the void, and begins.

What I’m Reading:

My mother, if that
was what she was
told me drowning
was the most
efficient way
to leave the house,
no footprints,
hard to trace

— John Yau / “Memories of Charles Street, Boston”