Except for the shirt pulled from the ocean, except for her hands, which keep folding the shirt, except for her body, which once held their bodies, my sister wants everything back now-- If there were a god who could out of empty shells carried by waves to shore make amends-- If the ocean saved in a jar could keep from turning to salt-- She's hearing things: bird calling to bird, cat outside the door, thorn of the blackberry against the trellis.
From Into Perfect Spheres Such Holes Are Pierced by Catherine Barnett. Copyright © 2004 by Catherine Barnett. Reprinted by permission of Alice James Books. All rights reserved.