prepare raze nothing is going to happen. be ready. 130216 ... ovenbird This is how the day unfolds: with French toast made from the leftover Kolach, barrel aged maple syrup, homemade strawberry cardamom compote, coffee, my brother in the living room playing classical guitar, everyone pretending that they’re not coming down with colds, a warm exhaustion pressing on us like an impending fever, the dog stretched out on the couch twitching in his sleep, doughnuts and tea in the afternoon, my parents telling us where they keep their will and bank documents, my father saying, “I couldn’t think of anywhere in the world I would like my ashes to be spread, so we chose the plot with the magnolia tree,” my mother asking, “what will you need in the immediate aftermath of our deaths?” me saying, “I will need to touch what you were or I don’t think I’ll ever be able to believe you’re gone,” a stricken silence, the lights of the Christmas tree blinking, blinking, blinking. 251228 what's it to you? who go blather from