trunk raze i wish i could taste the water that came out of the tap in mary's kitchen sink. i want to open a pockmarked wooden box marked "memories" and find it in a thick manila folder full of other flattened flowers that don't grow anywhere anymore. i'm sure i drank it at some point. i must have. but my tongue was too young to file away what it felt for safekeeping. it was sweet, my dad said. it tasted like the best thing in the world. everything in her house was like that. she could spin magic out of the mundane. she would iron her grandchildren's underwear after air-drying them. then she'd put them in the fridge to take the edge off. and she loved elephants. every time she saw one with its trunk raised, she said it was good_luck. 220723 what's it to you? who go blather from