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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 6, Number 3, September 2012


M. Kei
Chesapeake Bay, Maryland, USA

the memory keepers

soot covers everything, including the surface of my lungs

this is the place they bring the things they want to keep forever

they wrap them, box them, label them, catalog them

the black grit of time clings to plastic, cardboard, wood, paint, skin

i spend a great deal of time correcting catalog entries; this is tatting not crochet; this is macramé not knitting; this is an antimacassar not a table runner; this is machine-made not handmade

this is the warehouse for the museum

underneath, it is a bus garage, and the fumes of a dozen idling buses sift up through the floorboards

up here, nothing goes anywhere; down there, everyone goes somewhere else

once upon a time
the handmade purse
with its broken beads
danced next to
the legs of a flapper



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