chest raze i remember the first time i saw it open. so much polished brown firewood that wouldn't burn. there was the dress she wore the day she was married for the first time, folded into an accordion of squares. it looked so joyless. like something she would have been buried in two hundred years ago, if she'd been born early enough to die then. she told me she was giving me her wedding pictures. she said i was old enough to have them. she didn't really want to give me anything. she only wanted to unburden herself of everything that reminded her of a choice she made before she knew what she wanted her life to look like. not that she ever figured it out. but she learned enough to know she didn't want me in it. she kept the dress. is that what she'll wear when she walks off the edge of the cliff she calls a home? what clothes do you want to cover you when your feet fill with blood and your skin turns to sand? 220309 what's it to you? who go blather from