to chronicle, a compulsion: V.R.Saklikar // Elizabeth Argue

my father writes to me on my birthday. It is the 1980's

for birthdays, you’d type out fragments “everything here is the path of a responding” (M.Heidegger)

that time in Saskatchewan: where? Kinistino (Carrot River Valley) or

Grenfell, at the junction of–

you, on the ice rink. Wrong clothes: second-hand brown cloth jacket

you, learning how to skate, proceed with care, and hold on to the boards.

Dear Betty, you are gone now. I miss your letters.


Night and the little chapbooks. I stitch paper and make mistakes.


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